


True Tests Never End

by Cryllia



Series: Mydag [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Character Chronicle, DLC, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Game Spoilers, Language, Other, Possible Book Spoilers, Possible Comic/GN Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-22 07:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 55
Words: 87,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2500454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryllia/pseuds/Cryllia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Alistair and Duncan comment in game on the fact that there have never been many female Grey Wardens.  There is, in fact, a good reason for it...Several of them.</p><p>Multi-Warden story, but Cousland is THE Warden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Becoming: Setting Out

_The threat was growing daily. There weren’t enough Wardens in Ferelden. The Archdemon was coming._ These were the thoughts that churned through Duncan’s mind as he approached King Cailan’s tent. He nodded a terse greeting to the guard before ducking inside.

“My scouts report that their numbers have increased by half again, sire,” Loghain Mac Tir was saying.

“And we will take the day again and again as many times as necessary. We will stop them here. We will break them here. Besides, we have the Grey Wardens fighting with us,” Cailan answered.

“It will take more than a few Grey Wardens to win this war!”

“Forgive me, your majesty,” Duncan interrupted, “But that is exactly why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“I would like your permission to seek out more recruits for the Wardens.” Loghain opened his mouth to protest and Duncan held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture as he continued. “There is no reason I cannot look for other recruits for the army as well; mages and soldiers alike if I have your permission.”

Loghain’s frown deepened, but he bobbed his head in agreement a moment behind Cailan. “Of course, Duncan. Anything you need. When will you leave?” The king asked.

“Immediately, if possible.”

“The sooner you go, the sooner you will return. Maker watch over you, Duncan.”

“May he watch over us all.” He gave a curt bow to the two men before returning to his tent, motioning to a couple of fellow Wardens as he passed them. “I’ve got permission. Most of us need to stay here. I’ll take you two with me. We’ll start with Orzammar and work our way around Ferelden. Pack your things, it’s going to be a long journey. We’ll move out as soon as you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the shortness of this chapter. Next one won't be.


	2. Becoming: Collection - Orzammar

The doors opening into Orzammar were imposing to say the least. The small group of Wardens approached the guardsman with a small bow.

“Atrast vala, Wardens. It has been some time since we have been visited by those of your order. How may the Dwarves serve?” His eyes scanned the humans before him, obviously looking for signs of the Taint taking over.

“Atrast vala. I fear our visit is less than pleasant,” Duncan sighed. “May we enter?”

“Of course, Wardens. Orzammar will always welcome their traditional allies.” The guard bowed again and motioned. Slowly the gigantic doors swung open, and a blast of warmth blew over the Grey Wardens who were willingly swallowed into the depths of the mountain.

“The darkspawn gather on the surface. We come both to perhaps find a dwarf or two who is both worthy and willing to join our order, and to find further proof of the darkspawn’s movements for our King.” Duncan explained to Harrowmont, the Dwarven king’s advisor a few hours later.

“Of course. Your timing is rather serendipitous. Next week my lord Aeducan’s daughter is to be given her own command. Perhaps a Proving could be arranged, and our own outing into the deep roads can coincide with yours?”

“That does sound promising.”

“Hey, Harrowmont I -” came a rough alto voice from Duncan’s left. “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t aware we had guests.” Light blonde hair pulled into a tight double bun above a muscular frame were his first impression of the noblewoman in front of him. Light blue eyes met his as she raised from her bow.

“No apologies necessary, my lady. Please allow me to make introductions. My lady, this is Duncan of the Grey Wardens. Duncan, this is my lady Sescha Ansa Sereda Aeducan, second child and only daughter of his highness King Endrin Aeducan.”

The lady rolled her eyes. “That’s a ridiculous mouthful. Sescha will do.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Aeducan” Duncan replied, trying unsuccessfully to hide a grin.

“Can I help you, my lady?” Harrowmont asked.

“Yeah. Dad just told me that he wants me to wear Grandmother’s armor to my feast next week, so I need the key to the vault.”

“Certainly, my lady.” A moment later and a key was handed over. “I’ll be wanting that back, of course.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good to meet you, Dorko. I’m sure we’ll talk more later.” Another swift bow, and the young lady was gone.

The advisor sighed. “I am sorry, Duncan. No offense was intended, I’m sure.”

“Not to worry,” the Warden-Commander chuckled. “She clearly has a lot on her mind.”

_It had_ proven _to be an interesting Proving after all_ , Duncan thought wryly. First there had been the odd encounter with the casteless woman. She had been so very different from the dwarves of the diamond quarter; twitchy in a way that reminded him of the elves of the alienages but without the fear of repercussions. He had made a mental note to go into ‘Dust Town’ and see what he might find there. Perhaps the dwarves there would be willing to leave the safety of the Stone for a chance at a better life. And then there was the actual Proving itself. From what he could tell of the murmurings around him the young man named Everd should not have been able to defeat even his first opponent, never mind the one after that or that. More oddly, he was fighting with mace and axe rather than sword and shield as was his usual wont.

“Everd will advance to the final bout to determine the true champion of the ring. Against –“

“Oi!” An incredibly drunken dwarf stumbled into the ring, cutting the Proving Master short. “Ish my bout already?” The crowd was quick to boo this interruption. “’Ey! Thash my armor!”

In a moment Everd’s former competitors recognized the drunk.

“Wait!” claimed one. “That’s Everd! But if that’s Everd, then what imposter did I fight?”

“Remove your helmet warrior,” commanded the Master, “and let all who watched you see your face.”

Without saying a word, the warrior did so, dropping it heavily at their feet before going to their knees and looking up petulantly at both the Master and Duncan. Short black hair and piercing black eyes peered from moon-tanned skin. A cry of outrage went up from the crowd as they realized that the pretty dwarven face was marred by a black keyhole over one eye and a key on the opposite cheek. It was the face Duncan had been impressed by just a few hours before. Duncan stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“Casteless! You insult the very nature of this proving. Guards, take this…filth away!”

“Hold your men, I pray you.” Duncan asked. “This woman has defeated the very best you have to offer. Is that not what this Proving is for?”

“We are honored by your presence, Warden, but this Proving is not solely for you. There are laws which have governed this arena for a thousand years. She is no warrior. She is casteless, rejected by the ancestors. Her very footsteps pollute the Stone. She has no place here.”

“If that is truly how you feel, then perhaps it would be best if she were to leave Orzammar all together?”

“For the surface? No one is stopping her.”

“Indeed. Will you allow her to join my group then? Assuming she survives our expedition, we’ll take her with us to the surface when we leave.”

“Very well, but she cannot leave our custody until you leave for the deep roads.”

“My thanks.”

Nothing. They had found nothing but remnants, even as far from Orzammar as they were. It was everything Duncan had feared. The deep roads had emptied, heeding the call of the Archdemon that haunted his dreams to head for the surface. The Fifth Blight. And yet not a bit of it would be enough to count as ‘proof’ for King Cailan or Loghain.

“Alright men. We’ve seen what we’ve come to see. I don’t think there’s a point in staying any longer,” Duncan sighed. Over his shoulder, one of the men gasped.

“By the Maker, it’s a dwarf!”

“Gettin’ old guys…” grumbled the casteless dwarf with them.

“Not you, Mirun. Look!” He pointed. Sure enough, coming out of a side passage, dressed in nothing more than a few bits of mismatched leather armor, hair undone and eyes wild with lack of sleep stumbled a well muscled blonde dwarf.

“Lady Aeducan?” Duncan called. “What are you doing here? Where are your troops? What’s happened?”

Sescha’s eyes lifted to the group and she ran towards them with a hobble. “Its you. The Grey Warden. Donkey, right?”

The other Wardens snickered, which were shushed with a look. “It’s Duncan.”

“Right. I’ve been looking for you. Thank the Ancestors I found you in time.”

“Us? But why, Lady Aeducan?”

“Feh, don’t call me that. I’m not Lady Anything anymore, just Sescha.”

“You were made to walk the Deep Roads?”

Sescha nodded miserably and Mirun cackled. “Really? The great Lady Aeducan casteless. Ha! Where do you want your tattoo?”

The former noble growled and launched herself at the other dwarf. In moments, the two were rolling around the dirt of the Deep Roads, screeching dwarven epitaphs at each other.

“Ladies. Ladies! LADIES!” Duncan yelled. Neither heard him. With a motion the Wardens were prying them apart. “Stop it. This is no place for such a discussion. Lady Ae- Sescha, how have you survived this long?”

Sescha turned her eyes away from them, not daring to meet their gaze. “I did what I had to do. If I have to die for it so be it, but I won’t die at _their_ hands.”

The other Wardens suddenly took a step back and readied their weapons as Duncan’s voice became deadly serious, “I see.” He knelt. “Come. Let me look at you.”

With head hung, Sescha’s steps were heavy as she walked towards her judge. When she reached him he tipped her head back to gaze into her eyes, opened her mouth, and examined her skin and fingers.

“How much?”

“Enough. Just enough to survive. No more.”

“Did any of them…?” He started, but the burning shame on her face was enough to answer his question. He nodded. “She has time.” Those under Duncan’s command let out a breath as one. “A month or so if she isn’t exposed to them anymore until it’s done. Sescha, you have a choice. You can come with us and become a Grey Warden. Or not.” His tone detailed exactly what ‘not’ consisted of.

“That’s why I was looking for you.”

“Then come. Sescha, I know you’re a capable warrior, but I need you to stay out of the fighting and away from the darkspawn. Gentlemen, when we reach the surface, I’ll need you to escort these two ladies back to Ostagar until I return. Keep Sescha in the middle of the Warden camp with a watch at all times and well away from the action. They’ll know she’s there.”

“Sir!”


	3. Becoming: Collection - The Circle

Duncan braced himself as the ferryman rowed him across the lake to the looming tower, well aware of the tensions already present in that place and that his own would only serve to rifle them more. The few steps it would take to enter the tower had never seemed so daunting.

“Can I help you, ser?” Asked a rather bored looking Templar at the door.

“I certainly hope so. My name is Duncan. I am the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and I need to speak with First Enchanter Irving as soon as possible.”

“Warden-Commander, eh? Wot’s this about then?”

“Bran! It doesn’t matter what it’s about. Let the man in and leave it for Greagoir!” hissed his companion.

“Oh. Right then. In you go. I’ll let the Knight-Commander know yer here.”

Several minutes of waiting eventually got him an escort to the First Enchanter’s office where both Irving and Greagoir were waiting. Irving hid a yawn as he entered.

“Duncan! Good to see you again. I do hope you’ll forgive my manners, we were up late last night. A double Harrowing – and both passed with flying colors, much to the disappointment of Greagoir here.”

“Please, Irving. Simply because I’m willing to do my duty without hesitation does not mean that I want mages to fail their Harrowing.”

“What ever lets you sleep at night. Or do you?”

“Of course I do!” Greagoir scoffed.

“Sometimes I wonder… Regardless, what brings you to us? I was under the impression that you were with the king’s army in the south.”

“I was. Unfortunately the threat is greater than we anticipated. I am looking for a new recruit for the Wardens. As you know, it’s traditional for us to have one from every circle, but I’m afraid we’re quite lacking in that area.”

“I see. Actually, both of the young women who passed their Harrowings last night would be worthy candidates for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Ms. Amell comes from a long line of mages. Truth be told you could probably recruit her whole family. My understanding is that she has a sibling in every circle.” Greagoir seemed to shudder at the thought. Irving continued. “She has a gentle soul, always taking in wounded animals and helping her fellow apprentices. Her Harrowing took quite a while, but not due to any temptation. She was actually trying to help a rage demon calm down. It was really quite funny once we realized what was happening. She-“ Irving began to chuckle at the memory, but a stern look from Greagoir ended it. “Ahem. Yes well. The other is Ms. Surana. She’s an elf, but I know that’s never bothered the Wardens much. More importantly is that she is, well… Its all violence and death with that one. Quickest, cleanest Harrowing I’ve ever seen, but…” Irving frowned.

“Some reservation about her?”

“Nothing I can put my finger on.”

“The Templars agree. We’re keeping a close eye on her. We always have.” Greagoir added.

“I see. Well. I should very much like to meet these two. But I’m afraid there is a second purpose to my being here. I have been sent out to collect more general reinforcements for the army as well.”

“What? No!” protested Greagoir. “Too many have already gone to Ostagar – Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages! We’ve committed enough of our own to this war effort—”

“Your own? Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages , Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?” countered Irving.

“How dare you suggest—“

“Gentlemen, please. Irving, I believe someone is here to see you.” Duncan motioned to two young women standing in the door way.

“Ah, if it isn’t our two new sisters in the Circle. Come in children.”

“These are…?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Irving, you’re obviously busy.” Greagoir huffed. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Of course. Well, then…where was I? Oh yes. This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens. Duncan, this is Osane Amell and Isallin Surana.”

Duncan took a moment to assess the two women before him. Osane Amell was a tall wispy woman with hair was so black that it glinted glue and was long enough to reach her lower back. Long dark lashes demurely covered startlingly blue eyes. Both were offset all the more by her incredibly pale skin that looked like it had never seen the sun before. The woman next to her was a study in comparison; short, but somehow solidly built despite her slim frame. Blood red hair was twisted into small spikes and green eyes blazed with an inner fire from behind a complicated scar pattern. Her ears twisted to points as sharp as her purported personality.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Osane greeted him quietly.

“ _This_ is why you called us here?” Isallin asked incredulously as she raised an eyebrow.

“In part, yes. Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king’s army at Ostagar. I also called you here to tell you that your phylacteries have been taken to Denerim. I officially welcome you into the Circle. Here are your new robes and staff to commemorate the occassion.”

“Thank you, ser.” Osane accepted her robe and staff.

“Feh,” Isallin rolled her eyes. “Our leashes you mean. Is this seriously all we get? After you threw us to the wolves like that?”

“Remember that the Circle provides as much protection _for_ us as it protects others _from_ us, child. Do not be so eager to throw that away.” Irving countered.

“At least in the war we could do something useful, not just sit around a tower all day staring into our navels.”

“So you’d like to join the war effort, would you?” Duncan asked, thoughtfully.

“By the Void, yes. Anything to get me out of here.”

“And you, Ms. Amell?”

“Me?” Bright blue eyes looked up, startled. “Oh! No. Well. Maybe. I mean, I wouldn’t be very useful on the field. But afterwards there would be a lot of people that need help, right? I could do that, I guess.”

“Well I’d certainly never force the issue if you didn’t want to go.” Duncan smiled kindly at the girl. “But I’m sure you have things to do, First Enchanter.”

“What? Oh yes. Girls, would you see Duncan to the guest quarters, please?”

“Of course, First Enchanter,”Osane agreed.

“You do that, sparkle fingers. I think Jowan was looking for me.”

Isallin disappeared as Osane motioned for Duncan to follow, cutting through the large chamber in the middle of the tower and showing him to a large room next to a library.

“Thank you very much.” Osane smiled shyly before disappearing into the depths of the tower.

Duncan had spent several hours perusing the library for further information on the darkspawn and previous blights.

“Duncan, might I interrupt your thoughts?” Duncan turned to Osane Amell.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“It’s just that…something is happening downstairs. The First Enchanter is there and the Knight-Commander and some other Templars.”

“That sounds like Circle business. It’s not my place to interfere.”

“I know, but…” Osane blushed. “I can’t find Jowan or Isallin anywhere. There are rumors about Jowan. And I’ve read…that is…”

“What is it child?”

“Is it true that the Grey Wardens will do anything to avert a blight? Even the forbidden?”

“We try not to annoy anyone, but I believe such things have occurred in the past.”

“I just remembered the First Enchanter saying that you were recruiting. I thought maybe… It was a stupid idea. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Osane dropped her eyes and turned away.

“No, wait. Please. Thank you for thinking of me. I’d be honored if you’d accompany me.”

The two worked their way to the basement doors where several Templars were sprawled and a heated discussion was taking place between Irving and Greagoir over the head of Isallin.

“—influence the blood mage might have had. How are we to deal with this?” Greagoir was growling.

“Knight-Commander, if I may…” Duncan interrupted, followed closely by Osane. “As I said before, I am not only looking for mages to join the king’s army, but also to join the Grey Wardens. I believe I have found two such recruits.”

“What?! Both of them? As far as _she_ is concerned,” Greagoir jabbed a finger at Isallin, “joining the Grey Wardens is a privilege. Are we to reward her for flouting the Circle’s rules? And _that_ one, what has she even done to draw your attention?”

“My understanding of the situation is that she gave all to help a friend. The Grey Wardens need that kind of loyalty. As for Osane, she saw a situation and a solution as a resource that could be helpful in ending the blight about to be destroyed. That too is a useful quality for the Wardens.”

“I believe you said one mage per Circle, Duncan. What about that?”

“I’m sure you’re well aware, Greagoir, that not all of our recruits are able to successfully pass our training.”

“I object. Take Amell if you must, Duncan, but I do not trust Surana. I will investigate this issue, and I will **not** release this mage to the Grey Wardens.”

“Greagoir, mages are needed. Worse things plague this world than blood magic – you know that. I will invoke the Right of Conscription for her if I must.”

Greagoir frowned. “Consider it invoked.”

“So be it. Come.” With a nod, Isallin moved to stand behind Duncan, head held high.

“Wait. Me too?” Osane squeaked.

“Yes, child. It is an honor. Do not squander it.” Irving said kindly.

“Get them out of my tower.”

Duncan didn’t have to be told twice.


	4. Becoming: Collection - Highever

Duncan’s next stop was Highever, accompanied by the two mages. The Warden-Commander setteled the two women into an inn at the near-by town with a warning not to ‘burn anything down’ before heading up to the castle.

“Duncan! It is good to see you again!” proclaimed a man in his mid sixties. Older, but still very much a fighting man and in shape, Bryce Cousland’s grin was infectious. Duncan couldn’t help but smile.

“And you, Teryn Cousland. I’m surprised you remember me at all.”

“Nonsense. Just because your last visit was overshadowed by Maric doesn’t mean I didn’t see you standing in it. I think we all fell into his shadow.”

“Heh. True. I assume you got the King’s missive about needing more troops?”

“Yes. I’ve sent word to Howe. He should be here later this afternoon.”

“Good. Perhaps I can send a couple of my own recruits with your people? I’m afraid I don’t trust them not to get lost on the way.”

“Not the trustworthy sort, eh?”

“No, they’ve simply never been away from home before.”

“Ah. Well, we’d be happy to provide an escort. By the by, we’ve actually got a bit of a tourney going on today. Care to watch?”

“Of course! Is one of yours knights, Ser Gilmore, participating? I’ve heard several good things about him.”

“Not today, but I’m sure we can have him put on parade for you,” Bryce smiled.

Word quickly spread that a Grey Warden was watching the tourney, and somehow it warped the tournament from being a simple test of skill into a kind of interview for a position as a recruit. Not that Duncan minded over-much, but it reminded him strongly of the dwarves Proving. A Ser Jory won the day. The man was skilled with a weapon, Duncan could see, but had clearly kept most of his muscle power in his muscles and not his brains. Even so, he understood duty and was willing to Join, and there was a desperate need – Duncan wouldn’t turn him away. Better yet, he was originally from Redcliffe and knew how to get to Ostagar. Duncan took him to the inn.

“Ser Jory, this is Osane Amell and Isallin Surana. Ladies, this is Ser Jory. He’s another recruit for the Wardens and can get you to the king’s camp at Ostagar while I continue my mission here.”

“What about bandits?” Osane asked nervously.

Isallin laughed wickedly. “What about them?”

“Ser Jory is more than capable of handling a few bandits in the _traditional_ manner,” Duncan supplied, giving Isallin a warning look. “And yes, Isallin, you can help if necessary. But only if necessary. Don’t draw unneeded attention.”

“I will act as if they were my own wife,” Jory said then blushed as he realized the implications. “I mean, I will protect them as if…I mean…Oh Maker help me…”

Duncan chuckled, “Never fear, Ser Jory. I’m quite sure the Maker knows your devotion to your wife. But the sooner you leave the better. Keep them safe.”

Duncan returned to Castle Cousland to discover that Bryce was in a meeting with Howe who had finally arrived. A guard showed him in.

“Once again,” Duncan said formally for Howes benefit, “it is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teryn Cousland.”

Howe seemed upset, “Your Lordship, you didn’t mention that a Grey Warden would be present.”

“Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced. Is there a problem?”

“Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am…at a disadvantage.” Howe said, flustered.

“We’ve rarely had the pleasure of seeing one in person, that’s true. Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are I hope?”

It took Duncan several moments to realize that ‘Pup’ was a nickname for the woman in the room. At least, he hoped it was a nickname. She had been standing slightly to one side so quietly that Duncan had mistaken her for a servant, but now the mistake was obvious. The woman shared several features with Bryce Cousland, including his brown hair, swept into a high bun, chin and the rather distinct Cousland nose. The golden eyes however, were all hers. Her dress and makeup implied that she was more of a diplomat that any kind of fighter.

“Of course, father. They are a noble order of warriors and heroes who fight the blight whenever and wherever it might appear.”

“Yes. Without their warning of the darkspawn rising now, half the nation could have been overrun before we’d had a chance to react. Duncan is looking for recruits before joining his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he has his eye on Ser Gilmore.”

“Truly? He’s a good man and well deserving of such an honor,” she replied.

“Pup, can you see that all of Duncan’s requests are seen to while I’m gone? Ah, forgive me. Duncan, this is my daughter, Andra.”

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

“I believe the pleasure is mine, ser. I will be happy to serve your needs while you’re a guest in our castle.” Andra’s eyes sparked.

Bryce watched the by-play with ever widening eyes before clearing his throat. “Yes, well. In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me. We must discuss the battle plans in the south.”

“Of course. I’ll see you at dinner then?”

Duncan couldn’t help but notice the sway of her hips as she left the main hall.

“That is my _daughter_ you’re oogling, Duncan,” Bryce growled after the door swung closed. Howe laughed and the sound grated on Duncan’s nerves.

“Nothing of the sort, Teryn Cousland. Appreciating the view, perhaps, but nothing more. I wouldn’t consider such a thing.” He waved away the idea. “But you said something about sending your troops ahead of you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid Howe’s troops have run into weather. They will hopefully arrive tonight and we can march tomorrow, but it would be better to send our troops on ahead, in case they are delayed again.”

“I see. Well let’s hope not, for the sake of everyone. The king needs those troops.”

“And why is that, exactly?” Howe asked.

“It has to do with Loghain’s plan,” Duncan started, launching into an explanation.

Duncan found himself opposite Andra during dinner, her golden eyes sparking and capturing his own attention to the detriment of the rest of the dinner guests. He found himself telling jokes just to hear her laugh.

“Tell me, my lady. So much of you is obviously from the Cousland line-“ he started at one point.

“So much of me? How much have you seen, exactly?” She quipped, mouth quirking. Her voice was quiet enough to not attract the attention of her mother who was engaged in conversation with another guest he hadn’t been introduced to, and somehow quiet enough to imply a great deal of intimacy that wasn’t there.

“Oh. Ah. That wasn’t what I meant at all. I’m terribly sorry. I simply meant to ask about the color of your eyes. They are a rather striking shade.”

“Thank you. I’ve no idea, actually. All the family portraits show perfectly normal eye colors on all sides. I do have a matching birthmark…”

“How does one have a birthmark that matches your eyes?” He asked curiously.

Full lips quirked again in a half smile. “It’s something you have to see to understand.”

“I- oh. Oh. I’m quite sure that would be inappropriate. Unless it’s on your wrist or something?”

Andra’s eyes were dancing and full of mischief, and Duncan was suddenly quite sure it wasn’t on her wrist – if it existed at all. He also knew his sleep would be plagued by those golden eyes tonight.

Duncan assumed that the sound of battle was another nightmare come to haunt him. He lay still, bringing his breathing under control and tried to not immediately reach for his weapons. The distinctive clang of metal on metal continued however, and a moment later he heard the death gurgle of a man defeated.

“Find the Warden. Remember: no survivors.”

That did it. The Commander rolled out of bed, pulling his dagger from under his pillow with him and dropping silently to the floor. A moment later the door burst open, but Duncan was in position. A swift kick to the back of the invader’s knee dropped him and a slice across his jugular finished the job. Duncan glanced at the shield the man bore – Howe. He dressed, buckling his armor and thinking just as quickly. He needed to find Bryce Cousland and figure out what was going on. Duncan sprinted out into the hallway.

The hall was filled with smoke and Duncan found himself pulling on his street-rat days from Orlais, dodging from one shadow to the next, killing only when he had to, in order to reach his next destination. He eventually found Bryce outside the kitchen bleeding from a wound that, even above the smoke, Duncan knew was already septic.

“Duncan! Please! Eleanor…Andra…They’ll be heading to the servants exit. I need to know they’re safe. Please.”

“Very well.” Duncan pulled the wounded man into the larder. “I’ll see what I can about other exits. Just in case.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

He left, and found a tower whose stairs led to the crenellations and wasn’t on fire yet. A quick glance confirmed his worst fears and he found himself glad that he’d send Jory and the mages ahead. He came back to Bryce to find his and daughter kneeling at his side. Surprisingly, Andra was dressed in heavy armor, a shield and sword – both bearing the Cousland crest on them – carelessly discarded on the floor next to her.

“I cannot make it,” he was telling his loved ones.

“I’m afraid the teryn is correct. Howe’s men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle. Getting past will be difficult.”

“So you are Duncan then? The Grey Warden?” the teryna asked.

“Yes, my lady.”

“My daughter helped me get here, Maker be praised.”

“So I see. She is far more skilled that I gave her credit for.”

“Can you do something about Howe?” Andra asked, her voice thick with hate.

“Not here. There are too many men, and they seem as willing to kill me, as they are all of you. Flight is the only option.”

“Whatever is to be done, it must be done quickly. They are coming!” warned Eleanor.

“Duncan…you are under no obligation to me, but I beg you…take my wife and daughter to safety!”

“I will, your Lordship. But…I fear I must ask for something in return.”

Bryce cut him off, glancing at Andra. “Whatever cost you ask, it’s yours. So long as justice comes to Howe, I agree.”

“Father!”

“Our family always does its duty. You must go, Pup. For your own sake, and for us all.”

“Very well then, Father. For you.”

“We must leave quickly, then,” Duncan declared.

Eleanor nodded, seeming to come to some conclusion. “Darling, go with Duncan. You have a better chance of escaping without me. I’ll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy you time.”

“Eleanor!”

“No, Bryce. I won’t leave you. We’ll go to the Maker’s side together.”

A crash signified the final collapse of the gates.

“They’ve broken through. We must go. Now!” Duncan urged.

“Good bye, Darling.”

“Good bye, Pup.”

Andra’s golden eyes filled as she stood, collecting her sword and shield. “I love you both. So very much.”

They ran.


	5. Becoming: Collection - On the Road

Once they were several leagues away from Castle Cousland, Duncan allowed them to rest, pulling the Lady Cousland well off the main road before making a basic camp. Andra didn’t help at all, simply sitting on a rock. At first Duncan thought she was being petulant for having coerced her father or for leaving her parents behind, but once the fire was glowing brightly he saw that her skin was paler than it should have been, and clammy to the touch. Her golden eyes showed nearly no pupil at all and she didn’t respond to her name. In short, she was in shock.

“Damn,” Duncan cursed quietly to himself. _I should have seen it sooner._

He pulled a blanket from his pack and wrapped it around her shoulders before handing her some jerky. She just held it, unknowingly as she stared into the darkness. Duncan helped her to lie down and he let himself drift lightly, senses still very much alert for any danger.

Duncan’s eyes snapped open to the sound of quiet sobbing. Turning, he saw Andra, more or less where he’d left her, but now curled into a tight ball and shaking like a leaf. The sun was just beginning it’s assent in the east. He moved quietly to sit next to her, simply putting a hand on her shoulder for comfort, to let her know that he was there. That she wasn’t alone. She gasped and sat up ramrod straight.

“Duncan?” Her voice wavered.

“I’m here,” he confirmed softly.

“It was real?” Her eyes pleaded with him, begging him to make it all better, to make the events of the previous night come undone with a word. If only he had such power. He nodded. She collapsed against him, clinging to him as a woman drowning, shuddering because she was crying so hard. And Duncan was helpless against it except to hold her and sooth her hair. He didn’t know how long they sat like that, only that she eventually wiped her face and stood. “Thank you.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Duncan hated that. A spirit like hers should not be so broken. Not by such a hateful little man as Howe – he could not be allowed to win even this small victory. Duncan tipped her chin up so she would have to meet his eyes.

“No thanks is needed, Andra. I’m sure you want to get to Ostagar to tell Fergus as quickly as possible, but I need to stop in Denerim first. I don’t plan on it being more than a day or two. You can continue on to Ostagar by yourself, or you can stay with me. It’s your choice.”

“I…don’t think I should be alone right now. If that’s okay.”

Duncan tried to hide the relief in his voice as he answered. “Of course it is.”

Two nights Duncan entered the tent from his watch, carelessly unbuckling his armor and dropping it next to the entrance before gently nudging Andra’s bedroll. He’d learned that was all it took to wake the woman, and much more was liable to send her into hysterics from a dream. He dropped heavily to the floor and pulled the bedroll over him. And a hand dropped gently onto his chest.

“What the-?” Duncan, Warden-Commander of the Grey, sprang from his bedroll as if a snake had bitten him. Andra was sprawled there, truly asleep for the first time since they had met, completely oblivious to his observation.

“Andra?” No response.

Duncan sighed and grabbed his armor before leaving the tent again. Outside he buckled his armor back on and settled in for a light doze over a second watch. When morning came, it found Duncan slouched over his own knees, head drooping on one fist, and drool running into his beard. Andra stepped out of the tent.

“Duncan, I’m sure it’s my watch by- oh no.” She hung her head as the morning light pierced her eyes.

The Commander startled awake at her voice, instantly grabbing for his weapons. “What? I- ah. Awake at last, Andra. May I ask what exactly you were doing in my bed roll last night?”

To her credit Andra’s flush seemed genuine as it spread from her cheeks to her ears and neck, and no doubt spread further south than that. “Oh. That.” A smile flitted across her lips and Duncan could see a cheeky answer about to roll off her tongue, but something on his face stopped her. Her eyes fell to his chest. “I had another nightmare last night. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I know I shouldn’t bother you on watch with this so…” She shrugged. “I just really wanted a hug, and it smelled like you. I guess I fell asleep. Sorry.”

“Andra. If you need to talk to me you can, any time, day or night. I am your commanding officer after all.”

“I know my father promised me to you and all, but…wait, what? You want me to call you what?”

“Commanding officer? It is the usual title, I believe,” Duncan teased with a small smile.

“No, the usual title is betrothed and eventually husband.”

“Excuse me?”

“You asked for payment to get mother and I safely away, and father agreed. The price was me. Everyone there knew it. I’m a noble woman. I was going to be married off someday. At least it’s to someone handsome.”

“True, but I think you’ve misunderstood the contract. I was asking for a recruit for the Grey Wardens, not a bride,” Duncan explained while wondering _She thinks I’m handsome? I'm twice her age!_

“I-oh. Well I feel like a dolt. Please do me a favor, and ignore me for the rest of the day while my shame burns me into oblivion? That would be fantastic.”

“Andra…” Duncan started, his mind whirling, starting the next sentence four hundred different ways and discounting them all. When the silence between the stretched too far she looked up at him and her golden eyes prompted his mouth open. “I’m honored that you’d even consider me a prospect, never mind a handsome one. It wouldn’t be the first time Wardens found comfort with each other.” _Did I just say that aloud?_ “But perhaps that’s a discussion for after you’re officially a Warden.”

“Yes. I think I’d like that.” Andra stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Maybe you’ll get to see that birthmark after all.”

Her smirk was back and Duncan was glad to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but necessary I think, and I didn't want to tack this onto the beginning of Denerim.


	6. Becoming: Collection - Denerim

Andra was still plagued by nightmares, but they were somewhat mitigated by the fact that Duncan was willing to hold her when she woke up from such dreams. It was nothing more than cuddling – Duncan had quickly learned that for all her teasing, that’s all it was. A couple more days of travel brought the pair to the gates of Denerim.

“Why exactly are we here?” Andra asked.

“A couple of reasons. Primarily because I would like to visit an old friend in the alienage – I believe there might be a recruit to be found there. I also have some other small business in the city I can take care of while we’re here.”

“The alienage. Really?” She sounded incredulous.

“Yes. Wardens come from all walks of life, Andra. Each brings important skills and knowledge to us. Prejudices have no place among us. The faster you set aside your old life and the expectations that came with it, the better you’ll be.”

“Ah. I guess there aren’t servants in the Wardens.”

“Definitely not.”

“So business or alienage first?”

Duncan considered.

“The alienage. And it will be better to stay silent once we’re inside. The elves don’t always take kindly to humans invading the one space they have left to themselves.”

The alienage seemed to be in some kind of celebration with the elves dressed gaily and imbibing a great deal of alcohol. It didn’t take long before their presence was noticed. A young woman and man dressed in even more finery than the others approached them. Surprisingly, it was she who took the lead. Duncan took her in – dark blonde hair cut short and divided into multiple braids, dusky skin similar to his own implying Rivaini origins, dark blue eyes, and a dangerous amount of curves – there was no doubt this was the daughter of Adaia. All that remained was to see if Adaia had passed on her training.

“Please leave. We’d rather avoid any further unpleasantness today, if you don’t mind.” Her voice was like butter.

“What manner of unpleasantness might you be referring to?” Duncan asked, playing dumb. Behind him, Andra began to speak but a quick motion of his hand from behind his back cut her off.

“The alienage just isn’t a good place for humans to be,” came the levelheaded reply.

“I’m sorry, but I have no intention of leaving.”

“I will ask once more, politely. Please leave.”

“Keeping your composure, even when facing down two unknown and armed humans. A true gift,” Duncan glanced to the side, spotting his old friend. “Wouldn’t you agree, Valendrian?”

“I’d say the world has far more use of those who know how to stay their blades. Still, it is good to see you again, my old friend. It has been far too long.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea…” the blonde interjected, moving closer to Duncan.

“May I present Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. And who is this, Duncan? Another Warden?”

“Ah, no. Not yet, anyway. This is Andra, a recruit for the Wardens.”

Andra smiled warmly at the elves assembled, “Well met.”

“And why would a Grey Warden be here?” the female elf asked in a sultry tone.

“The worst has happened: a Blight has begun. King Cailan summons the Grey Wardens, and any who are willing to fight for their country to Ostagar to fight the horde alongside his armies.”

“Yes…I had heard the news. Still, this is an awkward time. There is to be a wedding – two, in fact. Voxum, whom you’ve already met, and her cousin and apparently silent companion, Soris.” the elder informed them.

“I see. By all means, attend to your ceremonies. My concerns can wait, for now.”

As the elves began to speak amongst themselves, Andra frowned. “I thought you were in a hurry?”

“I said ‘for now’. I know very well what Valendrian is up to. It isn’t the first time he’s talked me out of recruiting from this family. Last time, however, there wasn’t a Blight on. Still, I won’t be the one to ruin a woman’s wedding day. No, we’ll let the proceedings continue normally. I can talk to this Voxum afterwards, preferably out of Valendrian’s hearing.”

It was then that they heard the scream. With a glance to each other the Warden and Warden-to-be ran to the platform.

“We have to go after them!” yelled one man.

“We can’t! They’re humans! Nobles!” cried another.

“And what would you do? You don’t have any weapons…” pointed out a third.

“I don’t care! That was my betrothed they just dragged off! And yours. I’m going after them, whether or not any of you have the balls to help me or not. It’s the right thing to do,” screamed back the first.

“Wait,” called Soris. “I…I’ll go with you.”

“I believe I can help with the weaponry, if you are determined to do this,” Duncan interjected. “Give me a few minutes. Andra, stay here.”

Andra nodded curtly as Duncan hurried away at a not-quite-jog out of the alienage and passed the Gnawed Noble tavern into a side alley. There he slipped into the Grey Warden Vault when no one was looking. Inside he took care of his ‘other business’; pulling his shield from his pack and storing it, along with a bit of coin from his purse, finally leaving a map he’d found in another chest – something he’d been meaning to do for months. He then grabbed a couple of generic crossbows and a longsword off the wall before hurrying back to the alienage. As he left Duncan didn’t notice a shadow detach itself from the nearby wall.

“Here. I wasn’t sure what your preferred weapons were, or if you had any training at all, but anyone can use a crossbow – point and shoot. Good luck.”

The two elves took off at a sprint.

“Um. Maybe it’s not my place to ask this, but why aren’t we going with them?” Andra asked.

“Because it’s _not_ our place,” came the reply.

“But if it isn’t our place, then why give them weapons at all?”

Duncan’s lips twitched in a smile. “I want to see what she can do. Come. I think we have some time before they return. Want to spend some time in the marketplace?”

“Oh yes!”

A few short minutes later Andra was deeply engrossed in a conversation with a woman about various scents and the possible reactions they might invoke when Duncan felt a hand on his belt. He turned to see someone tall, dark and lanky disappearing into the crowd.

“Hey! Stop!” With a growl Duncan gave chase. The two weaved in and out of the crowd, the thief deftly ducking between more average citizens without disturbing them. With a slight smile Duncan jumped over a crate and behind a building, knowing that the thief’s path couldn’t help but intersect his own. Sure enough, as he emerged the thief was within an arm length when the thief rounded a corner and straight into the City Guard.

“Oh bugger,” sighed the thief.

“He take something of yours?” asked the guard.

“Yes officer. My purse,” Duncan panted.

“Not surprised. He’s a wanted man. Quite the price on his head too. He’ll hang, no doubt.”

“Really? May I have a word with him?”

“Heh, why not? But I’m not going anywhere,” The guard grinned.

Duncan eyed the man in front of him. “What’s your name?”

“’Oo me? I’m Daveth.” He seemed surprised that anyone would bother speaking to him.

“I’m giving you a choice, Daveth. Serve Ferelden, help save it against the blight or to continue your…life. Choose now.”

There wasn’t even a pause before Daveth replied, “Get me outta here, old man!”

“So be it.” Duncan turned to the guard. “Ser, I am Duncan, of the Grey Wardens. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription for this man.”

“You have got to be kidding me. Him?”

“Him.”

“Fine, but keep a tight leash on him. He steals again in my city and I’ll hang him on the spot. Grey Warden or no.”

“Understood.” Duncan turned to the man. “And you. Do you understand?”

“That you just saved my neck and I owe you my life? Yeah I figured that out, mate. ‘Ere’s your purse back. I’m your man.”

“Good.” The two men made their way back to the marketplace. “Andra,” Duncan greeted the lady, smiling. She was admiring a finely crafted bolt of embroidered silk. “Are you ready to go?”

She sighed. “I supposed I’ll never wear things like this again. It’s going to take some getting used to.”

“You never know. The Wardens have need for those who understand politics and can move comfortably in the courts as well as on the battlefield, just not at the moment.”

“Hrmn. And I would have been so pretty in it too. I had one of those Orlesian styles in mind. You know the ones, with the necklines that dip down…” her finger trailed suggestively to just below her collarbone.

“Ah…yes, I believe I do.” Duncan cleared his throat. “But-“

“You’re no fun.”

Duncan smirked to himself, just as glad that the images flitting through his head stayed there. “As I was saying, I have someone to introduce to you. Andra, this is Daveth. Daveth, Andra. Now I need both of you to stay out of trouble while I check on Valendrian.”

Daveth was staring openly at Andra who rolled her eyes at him. “Of course, Duncan. We’ll be here.”  
“Good. Keep an eye on him,” Ducan added in a low whisper, trying hard not to notice the goose bumps that rose on her arm and neck as he turned towards the gate to the alienage.

Once inside he didn’t have to wait long before Voxum and a few others returned, some hurt. Voxum’s almost-husband was notably absent. While Valendrian fussed over them, taking care of the hurt women, Duncan took care to note both Voxum’s posture and attitude.

“Now tell me, Voxum. What happened?”

“Vaughan is dead, as are most of his guards.”

“Then the garrison could already be on their way. You have little time,” Duncan cautioned.

Voxum sighed. “It’s not the first time. I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t have to do that, child,” Valendrian argued.

“You’re the only one who still considers me a child, elder.” With a few practiced motions the braids in Voxum’s face were pulled away to show her eyes to their best advantage. Another movement and the long skirt was hitched on one side at her waist to show a great deal of very shapely leg and hip. The longsword she carried was hastily returned to Duncan, and not a moment too soon and the guards entered.

“I seek Valendrian, elder and administrator of the alienage!” declared the guard. Duncan sighed inwardly – it was the same guard who’d helped him with Daveth.

“Here ser. I take it you’ve come in response to today’s disruption?”

“Obviously. Justice must be done.”

Voxum swayed towards the guardsmen, her eyes locking with his. “Come now, ser. No one wants any further unpleasantness. Surely we can come to some…arrangement?” She was getting uncomfortably close to the guard for Duncan’s taste, dancing right at the edge of his personal space and offering him what was no doubt a lovely view of her cleavage.

The guard licked his lips hungrily. “Not this time, I’m afraid. We need real answers.”

“I could tell you what you want to know,” Voxum offered, voice low and seductive. She stepped closer yet, running a finger across his breastplate as she spoke. “You and your men could…torture…it out of me.”

Valendrian looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there, watching this display. The guardsmen on the other hand, looked hopeful. The guard speaking shook his head, but if it was in denial or simply to clear it Duncan wasn’t sure. “The arl’s son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace. I need names, and I need them now.”

“Tch.” In a swirl of fabric Voxum stepped away with the guard’s dagger, dropped into a fighting stance. “It was me.”

The guards took a step back startled. “You expect me to believe one woman, one _whore_ did all that?”

“We are not all so helpless, ser,” Valendrian offered as Voxum flipped the dagger across her fingers and into the dirt at his feet. The guard’s eyes widened.

“So be it. Voxum will wait in the dungeons until the arl returns. The rest of you, back to your houses!”

“Captain,” Duncan stepped forward. “A word if you please.”

“Oh Maker, not again.”

He chuckled sadly. “I’m afraid so. I’ll make it official for your paperwork if that helps. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription. I remove this woman into my custody.”

“Son of a tied down – Very well, Grey Warden; I cannot challenge your rights, but I’ll ask one thing: Get your people out of the city. Today.”

“Agreed.” Duncan turned to Voxum. “You’re with me now. Say your goodbyes and see me when you’re ready. We leave immediately.”

Voxum stared at him, stunned. “I see.” She turned and walked away slowly.

“Looks like you got your recruit after all, Duncan,” Valendrian said disgustedly.

“Not under the circumstances I would have preferred, but yes.”

“Treat her well.”

“Would you expect less of me?”

“I suppose not. I should see to the others. Good bye, Duncan.” Valendrian turned away.

Several minutes later, Voxum returned. She was dressed for travel and carried a small pack with her. In silence the two returned to the marketplace and located Andra and Daveth.

“Duncan! You’re back!” Andra grinned.

“Yes. We need to set out, are you ready?”

“If that’s what you need.” She noticed the elf woman following Duncan closely, and her voice lost all warmth. “She’s coming with us then?”

“Mmm. Problem?”

“Of course not.”

Somehow Duncan didn’t believe her, but there was little he could do at the moment. He led his group out of the city with a sigh, knowing it was camp rations from here to Ostagar.


	7. Becoming: Collection - Brecilian Forest

The small group had been travelling for a week and a half when Duncan felt it. Tensions had been running high between the group, and at first he mistook the feeling for more of the same. Andra and Voxum oscillated between shooting thinly veiled innuendo at him, and even less well disguised threats at each other. Daveth spent most of his time interjecting himself between the two women and outright leering. The feeling steadily grew, and two days later Duncan woke from his sleep in a sweat, panting heavily. He stepped outside the tent to cool off, where Andra was on watch. She looked up, concerned.

“Something wrong?”

“Very.”

Andra said nothing, simply staring at the fire.

“There’s something I need to investigate before I can return to Ostagar.”

“But you said…the king needs…Fergus…” she struggled.

“I am aware but Andra, please understand, I can’t ignore this.”

“Okay,” Andra nodded to herself. “Okay, so we take this side trip and-“

“No. I need you to take them on to Ostagar in the morning. With any luck I’ll be a week or so behind you.”

“Leave…without you?” Her voice was small.

“I’m sorry. You aren’t Wardens yet. I can’t risk you in this.”

“Risk? There’s risk? No. No way. I’m going with you. I can’t lose you too.”

Duncan closed his eyes against his own heart. “What we do as Wardens isn’t safe, Andra. You know that. There’s always risk, but the risk is significantly less for me than it would be for you. I trust you to lead Voxum and Daveth to the camp, and…” He opened his eyes to meet hers, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Please, Andra. I need you safe.”

Her golden eyes stared into his for a beat more before tearing away to look past the fire. “Okay. I’ll get them to Ostagar.”

“Thank you.” He gathered his armor and the most basic of supplies – he planned on moving quickly – before standing before Andra Cousland once more. “I’ll see you at Ostagar.”

Andra took a step towards him, but then stopped and simply nodded. “Yes.”

Nothing left to say, Duncan turned and jogged away, letting the feeling in his gut guide him.

Deep in the Brecilian forest Duncan cut down yet another darkspawn with a frown. He was close, but these few darkspawn weren’t the cause. There was something more here, he just couldn’t identify it, and hadn’t been able to for days. That was when he was sent to his knees by a flare of awareness and pain. When he recovered he knew exactly where he had to go. A nearly blind sprint brought him to the edge of a cave where he found a woman face down on the ground, covered in blood. She was dressed in Dalish armor, her skin a healthy tan from so much time outside, her hair was pure white, pulled into a tight foxtail at the nape of her neck. He rolled her over to checked for a pulse and was surprised to see that the woman was actually quite young. Her pulse was there, but barely. Pale grey eyes fluttered open.

“Can you hear me?” Duncan asked. “I am…very sorry.”

She didn’t respond, just sunk back into unconsciousness. Duncan marked the spot before lifting the woman and following her trail back to a Dalish camp.

“Stop, _shem._ What are you doing here?” challenged a guard.

“Please, I found this woman in the woods. She’s badly hurt. This is the Sabrae Clan, correct? Is Marethari still your Keeper? I need to speak with her immediately.”

The guard’s eyes dropped to the woman in his arms. “Len’fen lath’din. Follow me.”

Duncan was led to an araval and waited as the guard rapped on the door. A moment later an elderly woman with an intricate facial tattoo appeared.

“Yes? What is it, da’lin?” The hunter simply motioned at Duncan.

“Duncan! Well, this is a surprise. And who is this; Vhenarellan? Bring her inside, quickly. What has happened?”

The Warden wasted no time in either taking up the offer of admittance. “Hello Marethari. I apologize for coming to you under such dire circumstances. I fear I was in the area on Warden business when I ran across your clansman outside a cave. I knew your camp would have to be nearby so I brought her to you.”

“She was alone?”

“As far as I could tell, why?”

“She should have been with another hunter, Tamlen.”

“I saw no signs of another being with her.”

“I see.” The Keeper sighed. “I’ll do what I can for her.”

“Good. I need to return to my duties I’m afraid.”

“I can only hope she will survive to tell us what happened to her companion. If you run across him…”

“I’ll bring him back, of course.”

“Thank you, Duncan.”

Duncan returned to the cave, making slow progress. Whatever had hit him so hard had also release a plethora of darkspawn that he refused to leave unanswered in the woods. Thus it wasn’t until two days later that he finally found himself at the cave entrance once more. Entering was a simple matter, but the cave was only an entrance to an old ruin that was littered with more darkspawn. Duncan could feel them surrounding him, and the greater source of evil still to be found. He cleared a path to his true objective which turned out to be a large chamber in the back of the cave, and a large mirror centered on a pedestal within. There was no sign of the man that Vhenarellan supposedly travelled with. Duncan was studying the mirror when the sounds of combat reached his ears. Minutes later the door to the chamber opened and he turned to find the elf woman he’d rescued along with another that Duncan recognized as Marethari’s First, though he couldn’t remember her name.

“Ah. So you were the one fighting the darkspawn. I thought I heard combat,” he said by way of greeting. “You _are_ the one I found in the forest, aren’t you? I’m surprised you have recovered.”

“I don’t know you, human. Nor do I owe you anything,” her voice was flat and filled with hate.

The First gasped. “Even if you didn’t owe this human your life, a Grey Wardens deserves respect lethallan!”

“She owes me nothing,” Duncan countered. “Your people have always been allies with the Grey Wardens; it was my duty to return an injured Dalish to your clan.”

“An understanding human? How nice for you.” She scoffed.

“Lethallan!”

“It’s fine. Such attitudes are to be expected, given what’s happened to your people. Still, I’m thankful we’re having this discussion. My name is Duncan, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. The last time we spoke, you were barely conscious.”

“Andaran atish’an, Duncan of the Grey Wardens. I’m Merrill. Of the Dalish. But I guess you knew that. I’m babbling again aren’t I?”

“Vhenarellan,” snarled the white-haired elf. “Did you come alone?”

“Yes. Marethari did not send you after me, did she? I told her I would be in no danger.”

“No human. You aren’t that important. We’re here looking for Tamlen.”

“I see. So you and your friend both entered this chamber? And you saw this mirror.”

“Yes. Tamlen touched the mirror and I blacked out.”

“Perhaps. The Grey Wardens have seen artifacts like this before; we believe it’s Tevinter in origin, used for communication. Over time some of them simply… break. They become filled with the same Taint as the darkspawn. Tamlen’s touch must have released it… It’s what made you sick – and Tamlen, too, I presume.”

“So it’s true. I had the darkspawn plague.”

“You have it still. And it will infect others so long as this mirror exists. Your recovery is only temporary. I can sense the sickness in you, and it is spreading. Look inside yourself and you will see.”

“I don’t know if I believe you, human.”

“Confirm it with your Keeper later, if you like. For now, we must deal with the mirror. It is a danger.” Without waiting for confirmation Duncan turned, drawing his sword, and shattered the mirror.

“NO!” Merrill shouted. “Why? Why did you do that? There was so much we could have learned!”

“Have you heard nothing I’ve said? This infection will spread if the mirror is left unchecked. It is part of my duty to deal with such threats.”

“How dare you destroy the mirror! It wasn’t yours to destroy!” The First mourned.

“I would dare much more than that to stop such a threat. It is done. Now, let us leave this cursed place. I must speak with Marethari regarding your cure.”

“What about Tamlen?” Vhenarellan asked.

“There is nothing we can do.”

“I’m still alive. He could be too.”

Duncan sighed inwardly. “Let me be very clear: There is **nothing** you can do for him. _If_ he is still alive he has been tainted for three days now, unaided. Through your keeper’s healing arts and your own willpower, which must be quite formidable, you did not die. Tamlen has no chance. Trust me when I say that he is gone. Now, we should return.”

“Wouldn’t there at least be a body?”

“No.”

“So that’s it then. You just expect us to follow along behind you like good little servants.”

“Not at all. I’m hoping you’ll lead.”

Vhenarellan’s eyes widened slightly before spinning on her heel and striding purposefully from the room. Duncan kept his smile to himself as he followed, pausing only when he realized that Merrill hadn’t left yet.

“Are you coming?”

“What? Oh, yes. Yes, I’m coming. Sorry!”

Marethari was waiting for them when they returned. “I’m relieved you’ve returned! But I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Duncan.”

“I wasn’t expecting to return so soon either, Keeper.”

“Dare I ask of Tamlen?”

“The Grey Warden claims we will find nothing.” The elf didn’t even try to hide the disgust in her voice.

“I…see.”

“I’m afraid there is much to discuss, Keeper,” Duncan cut in.

“Perhaps we should speak privately, then?”

Duncan moved off while Marethari gave a few last instructions to her people before joining him.

“I am eager to hear what you have to say, Duncan, I admit.”

Duncan nodded, giving his understanding of the mirror and how it worked as well as his recommendation that should her people ever return to the cave that they should simply cleanse it with fire and be done with the place.

“I see. And what of Vhenarellan? I fear she isn’t completely cleansed of the plague that touched her.”

“She is not. And she will only get worse. It is no simple sickness she carries, but the Taint itself. If your clan is lucky it will kill her before it claims her. If not she will turn.”

“Is there no cure then?”

“One. It isn’t so much a cure as a preventative measure, and you may consider the cost as great as her life. As Keeper it is your call to make.”

“You make it sound dire, Duncan.”

“She would become a Grey Warden, forced to leave your clan and serve a larger purpose. I do not make this offer lightly, however. We need the help and she would make a worthy addition to our ranks. There is a blight on and every Warden is important.”

“I see. Between the two choices, I would far rather that she live and make her impact on the world than endanger the clan only to die, possibly at the hands of our own hunters. Take her, Duncan. Perhaps you can teach her what I could not.”

“I’ll wait at the edge of your camp then. Getting her the ‘cure’ as soon as possible is imperative.”

Duncan was as good as his word, trying hard to ignore the rise in voices between the Keeper and her charge and to curb his impatience at the following silence. Eventually Vhenarellan’s white hair bobbed into view. She was carrying nothing but the bow on her back. Duncan started to say something, but she held up her hand in warning and simply kept walking. Duncan shook his head and sped up to walk at her side. It would a long walk to Ostagar, especially in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's everyone! For those playing along at home, here's our cast:
> 
>  **Sescha [SESS-cha] Aeducan** \- Dwarf. Light blonde double bun, light blue eyes. Warrior (Weapon preference unknown)  
>  **Mirun [MEER-uhn] Brosca** \- Dwarf. Short black hair, black eyes, moon-tanned skin, Key and keyhole brand. Rogue (Dual-weapon)  
>  **Osane [oh-sa-nay] Amell** \- Human (tall and wispy). Very long free flowing blue-black hair, startlingly bright blue eyes, translucent skin. Mage (Healer)  
>  **Isallin [EE-SAH-len] Surana** \- Elf (sturdy for an elf). Blood red hair done in short spikes, green eyes. Complicated scar pattern on her face (unexplained at the moment). Mage (Violent but undefined).  
>  **Andra [AHN-drah] Cousland** \- Human. Brown hair in a high bun, strange golden eyes, creamy skin, claims of a strange birthmark (unconfirmed). Warrior (Sword and shield).  
>  **Voxum [VOX-um] Tabris** \- City Elf (super voluptuous). Dark blonde in multiple braids, dark blue eyes, dusky skin. Fighting style/Class unknown, but she knows how to wield a blade.  
>  **Vhenarellan [VEN-hahr-el-lan] Marariel** \- Dalish Elf. White hair pulled into a foxtail, pale grey eyes, nicely tanned skin. Dalish Hunter (Bow). [Also, don't worry, she's getting a nickname ^_^]


	8. Becoming: Ostagar - Call of the Wilds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going more AU starting here. I’m sticking with the general plot outline of DAO but… well, you’ll see ^_^

Duncan never would have thought that he ever would have considered the Tower of Ishal a welcome sight, but after a week of travel with Vhenarellan, he found that it was welcome and more. When the elf woman did speak to him it was short terse sentences filled with vitriol and venom. With a sigh of relief he raised his hand to where he knew Loghain had posted a scout in greeting, unconsciously hurrying his steps to reach the camp.

“Got someplace to be, human?”

Duncan bit back his irritation. “Yes. And so have you, if you’ll recall. We’re nearly there.”

“Finally.”

_My sentiments exactly,_ Duncan thought as the gates to the camp came into view.

The gates swung open and Duncan led her across the huge bridge and to a preparatory camp space. “Wait here while I find the other recruits. Don’t go wandering off, if you please. There’s a lot to do, and very little time to do it in.”

The Dalish woman simply scowled at him in reply. Duncan swallowed a sigh and began wandering the rest of the camp, looking for signs of his other people. He knew he’d have to go into the main army camp to find the dwarves, but there was no telling where the others were.

“Hello Duncan. You’ve been gone a while,” greeted a familiar voice.

“Wynne! Hello. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any of my recruits, have you?”

“Actually I have, Osane Amell has been helping the nurses with the wounded and Isallin Surana has been spending quite a bit of time with Uldred – he was her primary instructor before he was called away to help with the war effort. Would you like me to find them for you?”

“That would be helpful, yes. Can you send them to my campsite?”

“Of course, Duncan.”

The Warden nodded his thanks before moving on. He found Daveth outside the quartermaster’s unsuccessfully attempting to woo a female soldier. Laughing to himself, Duncan put a hand on Daveth’s shoulder.

“Been behaving, Daveth?”

“Oh. You startled me, old man. I suppose I have. For me anyway.”

“Good. Any idea where the others are?”

“Sure. That foxy elf has set up a tent just outside the main army camp. The guards won’t let her in, ya see. I keep seeing a knight at prayers that doesn’t seem to be doin’ anyfink in particular. I figure ‘es probly one of yours too. Ours, I guess…”

“What about Andra?”

“The pretty one who won’t let her hair down? Naw, haven’t seen her since we got here.”

“Thank you. I need to you head over to my campsite. You know where it is?”

“’Course.”

Duncan climbed the small embankment to find Ser Jory listening to a sermon from a sister of the Chantry. He could see Voxum’s tent…shaking? The sister glanced towards the tent as well and began to preach louder, a frown on her face. Duncan tapped Jory on the shoulder once. Jory turned to see who had disturbed him. Seeing Duncan, he nodded his understanding and began to turn back when Duncan motioned to the tent in question. Jory’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, but he nodded again and pointedly returned his attention to the homily. Duncan smothered a chuckle as he found his way into the main camp and to the Wardens sub-camp.

“Sir, you’ve returned!” he was greeted. Duncan smiled and took a breath. Here, surrounded by his fellow Wardens, he was finally home.

“Yes. And glad I am to be here. I assume Mirun and Sescha are here? How is Sescha holding up?”

“Badly. I swear she has nightmares worse than we do. She’s starting to show signs, too. Maybe a couple days more and then she’ll be too far gone.”

“Looks like I got back just in time then. I would have been back sooner, but there was a Mirror that needed to be taken care of in the Brecillian Forest.”

“Ah. Well that would do it. What about the ritual?”

“I’ve got another recruit who’s Tainted as well. Given that and Sescha’s status, we should proceed immediately. I’m gathering them up now at my campsite. Send them up, and Alistair too. Also, you don’t happen to know where Andra Cousland is, do you?”

“Haven’t seen her since she arrived.”

“Hmm. Okay. I need to find her and then I’ll explain everything and send them out. Get the rest of it ready for me.”

“Yesser.”

Duncan wandered the camp looking for Andra, becoming more concerned with each passing quarter-hour. No one had seen her since she’d arrived, and he couldn’t find any trace of her tent. Eventually the guard to the Wilds-Gate called him over.

“Forgive me sir, but I understand you’re looking for Lady Cousland?”

“Yes, do you know her whereabouts?”

“Not precisely, ser. I do know that shortly after arriving she left again.”

“What?! Why? Where to?”

“Into the Wilds. I’ve no idea why, but she hasn’t returned since she left.”

“Maker, no!” Duncan cursed under his breath. “Thank you.” He hurried back to his campsite where a huge bonfire was going, surrounded by a great many people, all of whom he recognized from his recent travels. The only one missing was his newest Warden who strode up about the same time as he did.

“Duncan! It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Alistair, but I’m afraid we’ve no time for pleasantries.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Duncan took a breath and caught everyone’s attention, gathering them close so they could hear him.

“Maker’s breath, Duncan! All these recruits, and only two men?”

“Problem, Alistair?”

“No! No.” Duncan watched as Alistair’s eyes wandered over the various young women with a certain gleam in them. “It just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

“True, but the women we have had have always served with distinction. I expect these shall be no different,” Duncan replied sternly.

“Yes, okay. I’m not a lecher; please stop looking at me like that…”

“Can we get on with this ‘cure’ of yours?” Vhenarellen spat.

“Yes.” Duncan nodded. “Getting on with the ritual would be best.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“What do you mean?”

“What ritual?!”

“You never said anything about a ritual!”

The outcry was tremendous. Duncan held up his hands for silence.

“You all must go through a ritual called the Joining. It’s necessary to become Grey Wardens. No, I can’t tell you more about it. The first step is that I need to send all of you out into the Wilds. You’ll each collect a vial of darkspawn blood. Alistair will be officially accompanying you, but I’ll be out there as well. Alistair, we have another recruit as well, but she’s already out in the Wilds. If you see her, have her join up with you. The other thing I need you to look for is a cache of documents – old treaties. They should be well protected.”

“She’s out there alone? That’s madness!” The younger Warden protested.

“I know. Her name is Andra Cousland. Focus on your recruits and the cache. I’ll try to find her. We’ll meet back here tonight and proceed with the Joining.”

_The problem with the Wilds_ , Duncan mentally noted, _was that they were huge. Initially the paths were simple, the swamps making the choices of terrain available to traverse limited, but the further into the Wilds you explored the more options presented themselves_. He could hear occasional sounds of battle or bickering behind him from Alistair’s group, but chose to ignore it, looking instead for signs of Andra’s passage; a difficult enough task as the darkspawn were quite adept at obscuring trails other than their own. The further he got from the camp the more darkspawn he could sense, and he still had found no sign of Andra. It was then he heard the crack of a twig behind him. Spinning he drew his two blades, dropping into stance. Facing him was an unarmored figure covered in mud and wielding a sword, also muddied. It bared its teeth at him in a feral growl and attacked. Duncan went on defense while his mind spun. _Chasind? One of our own driven mad? I can sense no taint…_ With a parry Duncan tripped his opponent sending them both to the ground, Duncan on top as his dagger pushed into the throat of his adversary.

“Stop! I mean you no harm, but I will defend myself if you persist.” Golden eyes flared angrily at him as they flipped positions, her sword taking the place of his dagger, other hand pinning his own. “Andra?” Another growl was his only answer as the sword pressed further into his skin. “Andra, it’s Duncan. I’m back. Andra?”

The golden eyes slowly blinked, sanity returning to them. “Dun-can?” She asked brokenly and she suddenly released the pressure on him, sitting back. Duncan took the opportunity to sit up, which ended with Andra straddling his lap.

“It’s me. What are you doing out here by yourself?” Duncan wiped away some of the mud, revealing her face more clearly.

“I was…looking for Fergus.” She could have been looking at something a thousand miles away. “They said he was out here scouting. He needed to know. What happened. About Howe. I needed to find him. But no one would help me find him. Said it wasn’t important. How is telling a teryn he’s just inherited and his entire family has been slaughtered because of treachery not important? So I decided to find him myself. Discovered the darkspawn could hear me coming in my armor, so I got rid of it. Lost my shield…somewhere…”

“Oh, Andra. Why didn’t you wait for me? Do you have any idea how much you scared me, when I got back to camp and you weren’t there to greet me?”

That finally got her attention, her eyes focused on his face. “I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. Hoping that I see you again in a week or two? This _is_ me waiting for you. If you’re hoping for a woman who waves to you from the battlements with a hankie, you’ve got the wrong girl.”

“No, not that. But knowing you’re alive would be a good start. A recruit who can follow orders is a nice second.”

“I did follow orders. You said ‘Take them to Ostagar.’ I did.” She shrugged. “What else was there?”

“I...nothing I guess. Fair enough. We need to get on with Joining. The other recruits are already well into it, if they haven’t finished by now.”

“What do I need to do?”

“For now, collect a vial of darkspawn blood.”

“Oh is that all? I have a pile of them over the hill by my camp. I’m sure some of them still have enough blood left to fill a vial.” Duncan blinked. “What? I’ve been out here a week and a half. I don’t know why, but it makes them leave me alone.”

He shook his head in wonder – she was a natural. The two sorted themselves out, filled the vial, and made their way back to the Ostagar camp. On the way Duncan spotted a Wilds flower and picked it, tucking it behind Andra’s ear, causing her to blush and giggle.

It was sunset when they finally reached the gate again. The guard greeted Duncan with a nod, then did a double-take at the mud-covered woman who followed him. The Warden said nothing, simply pulling Andra along behind him. Andra waved. The others had already gathered back at the bonfire.

“I’m just not sure about this…why all the secrecy?” Jory was complaining.

“Maybe its tradition. Maybe they’re trying to annoy you.” Daveth replied.

“Maybe you should both shut up.” Vhenarellan growled.

“The Harrowing is a secret in the Circle. I mean, we know about it, but not what it entails. For a good reason too,” Osane reasoned.

Isallin shook her head, “Pah. Only so the Templars can have another chance to scare the shit out of us. This is probably the same.”

“No, there is a good reason for it-“ began Alistair.

“Oh yeah, pretty boy? Then what is it?” challenged Mirun, causing Sescha to roll her eyes.

“If he told us it wouldn’t be much of a secret, now would it? Nug-brained casteless.”

“Who you calling nug-brained? You’re the one who’s three-quarters-“

“DON’T YOU DARE!” Sescha bellowed, reaching for her weapons.

“You know, one good thing about a blight is how it brings people together, it’s like a big party, but with more death and less dancing!” Alistair quipped to himself.

“That’s quite enough.” Duncan said quietly, stepping into the clearing. “Alistair, did you find everything?” Suddenly everyone’s attention was on the Warden-Commander and the mud-creature behind him.

“Duncan, you’re back! To answer your question, yes. Everyone managed to get a piece of the fantastic darkspawn action and we even managed to find the treatise. Not exactly where you said they’d be, but we found them.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were being held by a couple of women-”

“Witches of the Wilds!” Daveth put in.

Alistair rolled his eyes “-who were probably apostates, yes. They said they were protecting them. The spells on the chest had worn out long ago.”

“As long as we got them, back it doesn’t matter the source. Grey Wardens will do anything to combat the blight. You know that.” He raised his voice addressing them all. “You have an hour to yourselves, then meet me in the old temple for the Joining itself.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to the mudball behind you?” Duncan wasn’t even sure who it was who spoke.

“This is Andra Cousland, a recruit like you.”

Jory instantly dropped to one knee. “M’lady Cousland! May I just say that I am so sorry for your loss.”

Andra nodded slightly. “Thank you, but I’m nobility no more. I’m a Grey Warden, just like the rest of you. I’d love to meet you all, but if you’ll excuse me, I think my hour would be better spent cleaning the mud off and finding new armor. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to talk later.” She gave a proper curtsey, somehow making the motion seem elegant rather than just silly in her current state, before moving off to find an empty tub of water. Alistair stared after her, and Duncan bumped into him to remind him to close his mouth before he let the flies out as he left for the temple – perhaps a little harder than necessary.


	9. Becoming: Ostagar - The Joining

An hour later the recruits were assembled in the temple. A table covered with a white cloth stood at one end and a large silver goblet was centered there. Duncan stood before it, hands clasped in front of him as the various recruits lined up. Alistair moved to stand at Duncan’s side.

“I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later. This is the necessity of secrecy. This is the necessity of sacrifice. The Wardens do what they must, will sacrifice what they must to ensure that the Blight is defeated. The Grey Wardens were founded on such a principle, during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their Taint.   As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. **This** is the source of our power and our victory.”

“We’re…going to drink the blood of those…those creatures?” asked Jory with trepidation.

Alistair nodded. “Those who survive the Joining become…immune…to the Taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon. But not all who drink the blood survive. Those who do are forever changed. It’s the price we pay, the sacrifice we make.”

Duncan took up the cup from the table and stood before Sescha, nodding to Alistair as he did so. Alistair continued, his voice dropping to reverent tones. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.”

Duncan presented the cup, and Sescha drank a mouthful, handing back the cup. For several heartbeats nothing happened and then she simply collapsed on herself without a sound. Alistair jumped forward to check her eyes and pulse before nodding curtly to Duncan. The Warden-Commander moved on to the Dalish woman, offering the cup. Vhenarellan snarled her nose slightly, but forced down a swallow. In a second the pupils of her eyes had vanished to pinpricks and a long high-pitched keen left her throat as she slowly sank to the ground with Alistair’s help. A moment later, she too was unconscious. Duncan moved on to Daveth and once again presented the cup. Daveth too handed the cup back, but a moment later was clutching at his neck and making a sound like he’d be screaming if his throat hadn’t closed up.

As he fell to his knees, Duncan’s voice seemed to echo around the ruins. “I am sorry, Daveth.”

“Maker’s breath!” Ser Jory swore.

Duncan ignored him, instead moving on to Voxum who licked her lips seductively after taking her drink. She began to shake in a seizure, collapsing to the ground and quivering violently. Isallin’s facial scar’s flared with power after her drink, and a few minutes later she was practically bouncing off the walls. Mirun shrieked, grabbing her head in pain and curling into a ball, while Osane gained a slight blue aura and noted to herself that the drink was fruitier than she was expecting. It was Jory’s turn.

“This is madness. I will not do this.” He protested.

“Step forward, Jory.” Duncan prompted.

“But…I have a wife. A child! Had I but known…” Jory’s eyes were wide, showing white all the way around.

“There is no turning back.” There was steel in the Warden-Commander’s voice as he handed the cup to Alistair to draw his own blades.

“No! You ask too much! There is no glory in-” his words were cut off with a gurgle. Duncan looked up in surprise to find Andra pulling her own blade from the split in his armor.

“A necessary sacrifice. A price to be paid. Someday I will join him.” She looked pointed at the cup Alistair held. “Perhaps soon, but _I_ will die a Grey Warden.”

Duncan could not have been more proud as he took the cup back to offer in the Andra. “Then I call upon you to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good.”

Andra locked her golden eyes onto his as she took her drink, draining the cup.

“From this moment forth, you _are_ a Grey Warden, Andra.”

She blinked and her eyes were white, the golden iris and black pupil completely gone as if they’d never been. Her body went stiff as a board and she simply stood there, staring at Duncan. He stepped forward to check for breath or a pulse and found neither.

“No! Not you. Come on Andra,” he whispered heatedly.

“Duncan, the others…” Alistair began, but Duncan shook him off, staring intently at the brunette.

He leaned in close, whispering so softly that even Alistair couldn’t hear him. “You haven’t shown me your birthmark yet. Come back to me, Andra. Please.”

Andra blinked again, her eyes returning to normal.

She drew a breath.

And screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was short, but its the Joining! It needs its own page. Next chapter is a change in POV!


	10. Dream

White. Bright white blinding pain. Pain. Could pain be a color? They were different. They were _supposed_ to be different. Were they different? Yes. Pain of body. Pain of heart. Pain of hopes dashed. Pain of dreams crushed. Pain of death and destruction. So much pain. But all different. Reds as dark as blood. Oranges hot as fire. Yellows bright as the sun. Greens vibrant as trees. Blues as cool as rivers. Purples mysterious as dusk. Made bright enough they all looked like white. But all different. Pain was receding. White was retracting. Shapes. Sounds. Feelings. Where was this?

_Where do you want to be?_

Difficult question. Too hard. Too many answers. Was this a dream? Or was the other a nightmare? Home. I want Home.

_What is home?_

Don’t you know? Home is baked bread and family and laughter. Home is goodness and hope and love.

_What is love?_

Love is…love. It’s complicated.

_What is love?_

Love is. It’s a want. A need. A desire.

_What can be loved?_

Anything. But I meant it for people. A person.

_A person._

A husband or wife. A lover. A child. A sibling.

_Love: a want-need-desire for a person-lover._

That’s one definition.

Multiple images superimposed over each other. A dragon, terrifyingly beautiful, shining in the sun, every scale a miniature rainbow. The same dragon but twisted, as ugly as it was beautiful – angry and in pain. A woman, a man, a child, somehow inhumanly beautiful, eyes a prism of color like diamonds catching the light – different but the same. Different builds, different races, some stocky, others muscular, still others lithe and slim, but all the same. A thousand different hair styles and colors, different levels of facial hair, different noses, skin colors, lips, jaws. But all of them the somehow the same. And all of them with one name attached. Urthemiel. Eventually one seems to be settled on, and he steps through the mists of pain and color – Real. Solid.

_I love you._

She is lost to him.


	11. To Be A Warden: After the Joining

The shock of the words is enough to bring her back. The pain of losing such a vision rips a primal scream from her throat and tears from her eyes. Something is hurting her hands, and she looks down to realize her fists are clenched so tightly that her nails are digging half-moons of blood into her palms. Hearing slowly returns to her as if coming from far away, and she hears her name.

“Andra? Andra! It’s okay. It’s over. You’re alive. You did it. Andra?” The voice belongs to Duncan, Alistair staring at her worriedly.

“I know I’m new, Duncan, but I’ve never heard of anyone reacting to the Joining like _that_. Her eyes…” the younger Warden whispers worriedly.

“Neither have I, but we’ll worry about that later. Right now, I’m more worried about getting her back at all. Andra? Can you hear me?”

“D...Dun-can?” Andra coughs out, her voice surprisingly rough.

“Thank the Maker!” he replies fervently. “Alistair, can you help the others? I’ve got her.”

“Of course, Duncan.”

He smoothes a stray strand of hair from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Andra blinks slowly, looking around the world that somehow seems to be lacking color. “Lost.”

“Lost?” Duncan’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This isn’t…this isn’t right. No. It is. It isn’t time yet. Is it? Is this real? Everything’s spinning. Duncan?” Andra suddenly feels too small, squeezed, and she can’t catch her breath. Darkness engulfs her.

Duncan cursed quietly to himself as the woman in his arms babbled nonsense before fainting. Without hesitation he undid the buckles of her new breastplate and loosened the white cotton shirt underneath around her neck, before pulling his water flask from his belt and tipping it to her lips. Most of the water spilt down her chin and neck but he watched her swallow. A moment later Andra’s eyes fluttered open once more – the normal golden eyes he new.

“Duncan? What happened?” She asked, trying to sit up.

He held her down, breathing a sigh of relief, and signaled Alistair over before answering. “The Joining happened. You’re a Grey Warden.”

“Did you have dreams? I had terrible dreams after my Joining,” offered Alistair looking at her curiously.

“I- dreams. I suppose so. Something happened…” Andra shook her head as if trying to clear it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Duncan offered tentatively.

“Um,” Andra’s eyes dropped to the ground. “No. I don’t think so. Thanks though.”

“There’s one last part of the Joining. We take some of the blood and put it in an amulet to remind us of those who didn’t get this far. Here’s yours,” Alistair offered, holding out a small vial on a cord.

Andra took it with a soft smile and slipped it around her neck. “Thanks.”

“I’ll go make sure the party doesn’t get too out of hand. I know you have a meeting with the King and Loghain still Duncan.”

Duncan nodded, and waited for Alistair to leave before speaking again. “He’s right. I have a strategy meeting with King Cailan and Loghain. The King has requested your presence as well. Afterwards, you’re welcome to join the party if you wish.”

Andra raised an eyebrow at his tone. “And if I don’t wish?”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind, I believe we have a discussion to finish.” There was a definite heat in his eyes.

Andra’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open in a perfect ‘o’. He couldn’t resist laying a light kiss on her full lips. Her arms curled up, hooking behind his neck and pulling him into her – deepening the kiss. A moment later Duncan’s own fingers were tangled in Andra’s hair, trying to find the trick to releasing her bun from its confines. It was clear to Duncan that Andra didn’t know how to kiss and was simply acting on instinct, but he didn’t mind – as it turned out, she had good instincts. His tongue traced her lower lip lightly and she moaned softly. She still tasted slightly metallic from the Joining as well as something sweet…maybe honey. A well calloused hand slid to her jaw line, thumb lightly tracing from her chin to her ear and down the side of her neck causing her to shudder under his hands. They broke for air, Andra with a whimper, and Duncan remembered where they were. He took a breath.

“Hold that thought, Andra. Hold it tight. We’ll go to the meeting and get it over with as quickly as possible. Then we’ll…finish this discussion of ours.”

“O-okay.” Andra struggled to bring herself under control. “Why does he want me, anyway?” She stood and began to adjust herself and her armor.

“Why _wouldn’t_ he want you?”

“Ha. Ha. I meant at the meeting.”

“Oh. Poor choice of words, there. I’ve no idea.”

The two found Loghain and Cailan already in the middle of a fight.

“—current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” The king asked petulantly. He turned to the new two new comers. “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”

“They are, your Majesty.”

“And you are Andra Cousland? Bryce’s daughter. I don’t think we’ve actually met yet.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” She bowed slightly.

“I’ve heard from Loghain that we aren’t expecting your father and his men to join us, after all?”

Andra jerked as if she’d been punched in the gut. “No, Majesty.” She forced out between her teeth.

“And can you explain to me why that is?”

“What?! Are you- I…” Andra sputtered.

Duncan quietly placed a hand on her shoulder. “If I may? Teryn Cousland, his wife, and most of their house-hold are dead, your Majesty. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Andra was very nearly a victim as well. Had she not escaped, he would have killed them all and told you any story he wished.”

“Something I told your advisors when I arrived. They assured me you would be informed of the situation,” Andra added. If a look could have killed, Duncan was quite sure that Loghain would have turned into a pile of flaming mabari refuse.

“Loghain?”

“There are a great many things taking up both my time and yours. Things that are of far more immediate concern than a betrayal weeks old at the other end of the country.”

“So it’s true then. I…can scarcely believe it! How could he think he could get away with such treachery? When we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. On that you have my word and my condolences. Until then, I suggest you vest your anger and grief on the darkspawn. To that end, I understand congratulations are in order. Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Andra choked out, pressing into the comfort of Duncan’s hand.

Loghain rolled his eyes. “Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. You must attend to reality.”

“Yes, yes. Speak your strategy.”

“You and your…Grey Wardens…draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover.”

“To flank the darkspawn, I assume. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Who is in charge of the beacon?”

“I have a few men stationed there. It’s not a dangerous task, but it is vital,” Loghain answered

“Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary,” argued a bald mage. “The Circle of Magi—”

The Grand Cleric of Ferelden cut him off with a sharp hand gesture. “We will not trust any lives to your spells, Uldred! Save them for the darkspawn!”

“It is a vital part of the plan, as Loghain has said. I believe we should send our best. I understand that some of the new Grey Wardens are from the Circle. We’ll send Alistair and the new Grey Wardens to make sure it’s done. Everyone is happy.”

Loghain began to put together another protest when a scout stumbled into the war council and sketched a bow.

“Your Majesty, my lords. Forgive my intrusion. The darkspawn are gathering at the edge of the Wilds in ever greater numbers – we think for a night assault.”

“How long do we have?” Cailan asked.

“An hour or two, depending on their numbers before they attack.”

“Then we need to get into position immediately. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil! You have your orders; get your men in position.”

There was a round of platitudes before the session broke. Duncan pulled Andra to one side just before they reached the campsite, cupping her cheek in his hand.

“Andra, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Now isn’t the time.” She shrugged.

“Even so.” Duncan suddenly gripped her tightly, pulling her close. “Anything can happen in a battle, you know that. Every Grey Warden in Ferelden is here. There’s a chest in my tent of papers. Should the worst happen, try to retrieve it if you can. It will help you.”

“Don’t talk like that, Duncan. I told you before, I can’t lose you. You have to come back to me. We have a conversation to finish.”

Duncan smirked, “That we do.” They reached the campfire, where Alistair and the women were grouped in small conversations. “Sorry to break the party up, but we have new orders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again Beloved Readers! I'm still **_very_** new to writing love scenes. Now, I realize there's just a kiss in this chapter, but I know that more is coming (how detailed I haven't decided yet), so I am REALLY open to feed-back/critique on this topic.


	12. To Be A Warden: Following Orders

“The darkspawn are gathering for a night assault. I and the other experienced Grey Wardens will be with the King on the front lines. You will be in charge of lighting the beacon in the Tower of Ishal when we give the signal. Alistair, you’re the Senior Warden for this mission. Andra and Sescha are both capable of being your second-in-command. Your mission, your call.”

“What? We won’t be in the fighting? Duncan-!”

“This is by the King’s own order, Alistair. You know we have little enough support as it is. If he wants Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Wardens will be there.”

Alistair shook his head. “Fine. But just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

Andra stared. “You…have some odd ideas about the king.”

“I think I’d like to see that,” Voxum giggled.

“For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress.” Alistair countered with a wink.

“Oh I dunno,” Mirun piped up. “I think it’d be a great distraction…”

“What, me shimmying down the darkspawn line? Sure, we can kill them while they roll around laughing.”

“Wouldn’t be able to,” Isallin noted. “We’d be too busy dying of laughter ourselves.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m a great dancer!” he protested with a whine.

“I’ll just bet you are…” Voxum purred.

“Enough.” Duncan interrupted. “It is done. Get yourselves sorted and into position. I need to get to the others.”

“Duncan.” Alistair was suddenly serious, all humor dropped. “May the Maker watch over you.”

“May he watch over us all.”

Duncan turned away, jogging to the main camp. Alistair’s eyes skimmed over the new Wardens in front of him.

“Wow. Okay. You heard the man. Our job is the illustrious and terribly difficult task of lighting a fire when we’re given the signal. It apparently takes eight of us to do it. We’re going to break into two teams. I’ll lead Andra, Osane, and Mirun. Sescha will lead Isallin, Voxum and Vhenare- Vhenana- oh for the Maker’s sake! Do you have a nickname or something we can call you?”

“Vena. If you must.”

“Great. Vena. We’ll stick together for now, but if we need to split up, those are the teams. If anyone should get separated for some reason, head to the nearest point of civilization. Everyone understand?”

Andra nodded with the others, appraising this man in front of her for the first time; kind brown eyes covered by dark blond hair, a firm jaw covered by stubble, tall and muscular with broad shoulders. It seemed to Andra that he was hiding a lot behind his jokes, she just wasn’t sure what. Of course, she hadn’t had a chance to meet any of them except Voxum. They had all bonded over their Joining. She’d been alone, covered in mud.

The group broke apart, each making final adjustments to their gear with the quartermaster, getting a blessing by one of the sisters of the Chantry, or helping others prepare for the coming battle. A dull roar from somewhere below and away signified the start of the battle and the new Wardens hurried to regroup. They raced across the bridge, the fight raging below them, a swarm of bodies too far away to distinguish who was winning or losing.

On the other side, instead of finding a guard to the Tower, they were greeted by darkspawn and corpses. Alistair ran the first through, but more followed. In a moment, the entire group was fighting their way to the door of the Tower. One of the taller darkspawn dressed in heavy armor – this one sporting a helmet – growled something at the others and pointed at Andra. The two short ones engaging her backed off, turning to Alistair instead. It was a mistake. Andra plunged her sword into ones spine and cleaved into the other with a shout before advancing on the tall one. It screamed at her, but was cut short by Mirun’s axe in its lung. Alistair gave her a strange look but said nothing when she shrugged at his unspoken question. The door open, the group slaughtered their way to a large hole just before reaching the stairs to the next floor of the tower.

“Maker’s breath! What is going on here?” Alistair wondered aloud, peering into the darkness of the hole.

“Looks like they’ve been tunneling and broke through here. Took everyone surprise. Bastards.” Andra answered.

“Damn. We need to get to the top so we don’t miss the signal. Sescha – can you hold this point? We’ll work our way up. Once the beacon is lit we’ll rejoin you, but we need to know that nothing is coming up our backs.”

Sescha looked around the room and at ‘her’ people. “Get to the beacon, Alistair. We can hold it that long at least.”

Alistair bobbed his head once in thanks and then made for the stairs, with Andra, Osane, and Mirun following on his heels. The next few floors were more of the same – soldiers bodies smeared across the stones with darkspawn in nearly every room. The going was far slower than any of them would have liked. Finally they reached a trap door. Heaving it open, the four were treated to a truly horrific sight. The darkspawn in front of them was more than twice the size of a man, with huge horns curling from its head. Andra gasped. There was apparently nothing wrong with its hearing as the thing’s head swiveled towards them.

Alistair rolled left while Andra slid to the right. Mirun disappeared into the shadows, only to reappear a moment later behind the colossal thing. Osane whimpered in fear and a soft blue shimmering eggshell of magic snapped into place around her. The monster’s attention followed Andra, its huge muscles coiling as it prepared to fight. Alistair took the opportunity to strike at its legs, leaving long bloody gashes in his wake. Mirun moved in as well, bouncing off some nearby crates to gain leverage before landing on its back and hacking at it with her axes. The creature spun, kicking Alistair away in the process, but Andra was there to take his place. Her blade reached upwards and managed to nick its femoral artery, drenching her in blood. It roared; a deafening sound, and for a moment they were all stunned. Osane sent a bolt of healing into Alistair who groaned. The thing fell to one knee and Mirun took the opportunity to dismount safely. Andra charged, slicing its throat deeply. The darkspawn mountain fell.

“What...what was that?” Mirun panted.

“We can do darkspawn 101 later,” Alistair replied. “Osane, we’ve no doubt missed the signal. Can you-?”

Osane nodded, sending a small spark to the huge pile of very dry timber. In moments the fire was burning merrily. “Is anyone hurt? I can’t really tell under all that blood.”

Andra shook her head. “I’m good. You okay, Senior-Warden? You got a pretty good kick there.”

“Oh, by the Void, no. Don’t call me that. My name is Alistair. And Osane already got me. Mirun?”

“It never touched me.”

“Good. Let’s get back downstairs to Ses-”

The trap door slammed open and several crossbows popped through it, firing at random. Behind them, more darkspawn poured, quickly overwhelming them. Andra watched in horror as Mirun fell to an arrow, Osane got a sword to the stomach, and Alistair was dogpiled. One of the darkspawn wielding a staff pointed it at her. Andra saw a purple-blue flash, and then nothing.


	13. Dream

White. Bright white blinding pain. Pain. White becomes blues and tans. Pain becomes a tickling sensation on her feet. Sounds slowly begin to fill the silence. Waves lapping at her feet. Sea and sand. Clear blue sky overhead. She is alone. She begins to stand, but a hand stops her. She turns and _he_ is there.

_You will never be alone again._

You?

_Always. I love you._

I was doing something…

_I know. You would have left me. I took care of it._

I don’t understand.

_You will._

He pulls and she is powerless to resist, falling into the curl of his arms.   His kiss is scorching.  His hands run up sides and into her hair, holding her in place while his tongue plunges into her mouth, tasting, plundering, taking. She arches into him, needy for more.

_Never forget. You are mine._

She doesn’t understand. His words are a buzz in her head. The only thing that matters is **more**. She gasps for air, annoyed at the interruption.

_Mine. Say it._

She growls in frustration, trying desperately to pull his lips back to hers, but he stays away, locking his prismatic eyes onto hers.

_Say it._

Please. Please!

_Say it._

Yours. I’m yours.

His lips crash into hers. Blue and tan intensify to white. Tender touch, need, and heat intensify to pain. Bright white blinding pain.


	14. To Be A Warden: What does it mean?

Andra slowly became aware. Hearing returned first – the crackle of a fireplace and the soft humming of a woman. Touch came next – sheets under her, her body stretched out flat on a bed. Finally she was able to pry her eyes open, and a small room came into focus. She sat up carefully. The humming stopped.

“Awake at last I see,” came a smooth alto voice, followed by a gasp. “Your eyes…”

Andra turned to see who was speaking. She was a tall, dark brunette, curvy in all the right places with full lips and light brown eyes.

“Mother will want to see this.” She disappeared out a door before Andra could say anything. She heard voices outside and a moment later an old woman entered, closing the door behind her. Without preamble, the woman snatched her jaw, peering closely into Andra’s eyes.

“So it’s true then. I’d wondered, but now I’m sure.”

“Sure of what? Who are you? Where am I?” Andra demanded, pulling away roughly.

“Of you. Not something that happens often, I assure you. Your friends are waiting for you outside, perhaps you should show them that you live before further questions are asked or answered? You were the last to recover, after all.”

“My…friends? You mean Alistair and the other Wardens?” The old woman nodded. “Fine. Let me get dressed.”

When she stepped outside, fully dressed, Alistair was staring into the swamps, and several tents had been erected around the small house. The two unfamiliar faces were standing nearby.

“You see, boy? She’s fine. Just as I promised,” the old woman said to Alistair. Alistair turned to face her, and Andra noted that all the joy had been drained from his face.

“Thank the Maker. I don’t know what I would have done…”

“The Maker had very little to do with it,” the old woman muttered.

“I don’t understand. What happened? Where are we? Who are these people?” Andra questioned.

“You don’t remember? No…you weren’t with us. This is Morrigan,” Alistair indicated the younger woman, “and her mother. We’re at their home in the Wilds.”

“The man who was supposed to react to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn overran those already engaged. You would not want to see what is happening on that field now,” Morrigan supplied.

Andra’s stomach dropped to her feet as her heart rose to her throat. “What do you mean…over…ran…?”

“King Cailan…Duncan…all dead. We’re the only Grey Wardens left, and the Blight is unchecked.”

“No!” Andra’s hands flew to her mouth. A memory of a dream surfaced.

> _You would have left me. I took care of it._
> 
> I don’t understand.
> 
> _You will._

Andra felt sick. She sank to the ground.

“I know. I felt the same way when they told me,” Alistair said quietly.

“Betrayed?” Alistair could only nod. “Dead?” Another nod. “How sure are you?”

Alistair’s head snapped up. “What?”

“How sure are you that Cailan and Duncan are…are…gone? I mean, have you…has anyone… _seen_ …?” She was having trouble processing her thoughts and vocalizing them.

Morrigan again spoke. “I saw enough. There are survivors, but none where the fighting was thickest. You would have joined them if not for mother.”

“I just don’t understand. Why would Loghain do this?!” Alistair questioned, nearly yelling. His volume drew attention to the conversation as a couple heads poked out from the surrounding tents.

“Please. As if he’d be the first king to win his throne through blood and betrayal,” Morrigan’s mother scoffed.

“But he was loyal! A good man! A hero. He loved Maric,” he argued.

“Yes, but not Cailan. You didn’t hear him at the strategy meeting,” Andra noted dully. “And why…no, _how_ did you save us anyway, ‘Morrigan’s Mother’?”

“I have a name you know. Several of them.”

The other women began to gather around, listening to the debate in silence.

“That’s the one I’ve been informed of, and you’re avoiding the question.”

The old woman laughed. “The Chasind call me Flemeth. That will do, for now I suppose. As for why…well. We couldn’t have all the Grey Wardens dying at once now could we? A Blight threatens us all, but it is the evil behind the Blight that is the true threat.”

“The archdemon. But what do you expect us to do?”

“It has always been the Grey Wardens duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”

Vena snorted.

“Duty.” Andra felt dead inside. “I will always do my duty.”

“But to unite the land…how?” Alistair asked.

“I can’t imagine everyone will be happy with Loghain’s hostile takeover,” Andra offered.

“Arl Eamon! He wasn’t at Ostagar – he still has all his troops. He’s Cailan’s uncle. I’m sure that if he knew he wouldn’t stand for this betrayal.”

“What about the treaties Duncan had you retrieve? Are they worth anything, or just historical?”

“The treaties? Oh!” Alistair shook his head, surprised. “They’re still valid! They allow the Grey Wardens to demand aid from the dwarves, elves, mages, and other places during a Blight.”

“I may be old,” Flemeth interjected, “but dwarves, elves, mages, the Arl Eamon, and who knows what else…that sounds like an army to me.”

“Could we actually do this? Build an army to combat the Blight?” Alistair asked.

“We have to try." Andra said, head bowed. "It’s what Grey Wardens do.”

“So you are set then? Ready to become Grey Wardens?” Flemeth asked.

“What?!”

“You’re mad.”

“The eight of us, barely Wardens, against the Darkspawn-“

“-and Loghain!”

“There’s no way.”

“Not a chance in the Void!”

“I’m going home, getting my family out.”

Andra gave Flemeth a hard look, before turning to each of the others and giving them the same. “I don’t know about anyone else here. I can’t and won’t speak for them. Go back home. Protect your families and loved ones as best you can. But you know the Blight is coming. You saw it. You can _feel_ it. And you have the power to stop it. But no one is compelling you into this fight other than your own conscious. I am not **_ready to become_** a Grey Warden. I already am one. My duty is to fight the Blight and defeat the archdemon. I will do it myself, alone, if I have to. But I’d rather fight with you.”

The Wilds echoed silence for several moments.

“Well, I’m with you. I don’t have anyone but the Wardens anyway,” Alistair said finally.

“Neither do I, actually,” spoke up Sescha, taking a step toward Andra. “I’m with you.”

“When you put it that way…” Voxum sighed, heaving her bosom.

Isallin threw up her hands. “Go back to the Tower? You have got to be joking.”

“Oh sod it all,” Mirun cursed. “I’m a surfacer now. I know nug-shit about this place. I _have_ to stick with someone, and I’ve already done the thing… Might as well be you.”

“I guess you’ll all need someone to put you back together after these fights of yours. I can’t let you go, knowing what you’re walking into without any kind of healing…” Osane offered.

Vena simply stared at them all with her flat grey eyes.

“Well,” Flemeth snorted in amusement. “Now that this touching moment is out of the way, your first task is to simply get out of the Wilds alive. With so many Wardens in one place, the darkspawn are sure to sense you. Fortunately, I have something that can help you. Morrigan.”

“What?!” Andra, Alistair, and Morrigan all spoke in unison.

“You heard me girl. The last time I looked you had ears!” the old woman laughed. “As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.”

“Very well, Mother. I…understand.”

“And you, Wardens. Do you understand? I give to you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you **must** succeed.”

Andra sighed and nodded. “She won’t come to harm with us.”

“I suggest we go to Lothering. ‘Tis a small village to the north, but not far and there is much to find there that would be useful to you – news, supplies, a place to plan your next moves in detail.”

“That’s sound advice. But how can you get us past the darkspawn?”

Alistair spoke up. “Right, I did promise a basic course on darkspawn and Grey Wardens. I guess now’s the time. Everyone listen up. We faced several kinds of darkspawn in the Tower of Ishal. The short ones are called genlocks. The tall ones are hurlocks. The funny looking ones that make the horrible noise are shrieks. I’m pretty sure the giant thing we killed at the top of the tower was an ogre. If they seem to be in command of others they’re alpha’s. If they can use magic they’re emissaries. We can sense darkspawn. Conversely, they can sense us. Individually, you’d all be fine, but a group as large as ours will definitely attract attention.”

“Mother has given me something else for them to ‘smell’ instead of us, as long as we’re leaving the Wilds and not heading further in.”

“Let’s get going then,” Andra ordered. The others broke apart and began to stow their tents and various equipment. Flemeth moved closer to Andra.

“There is one last bit of advice I can offer you, in particular, child.”

“Oh?”

“Remember who you are. You spoke so convincingly to the others, but I know your heart is conflicted, and **I know why**.”

Andra flinched at the intensity in Flemeth’s voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Perhaps not. But we will talk again, and when we do, _You will._ ”


	15. To Be A Warden: And Alistair Shall Inherit A Harem

The few days it took to get to Lothering were quiet, each Warden lost in their own thoughts. It was only as they approached the village that the group seemed to rouse itself. A small group of men approached them as they reached the entrance to the town.

“Greetings travelers! I’m afraid this here is a toll road! Ten silvers will get you on your-” An arrow blossomed from his chest. Andra turned to find Vena with her bow string still quivering. Vena shrugged.

“Anyone else?” Andra asked the other men casually. They ran. Mirun took the opportunity to sort through the various carts the bandits had taken hostage. “Only take coin or upgrades in equipment, Mirun. If anyone does get better weapons or armor, leave what you replaced behind. We can’t be hauling around a marketplace, and these bandits took this from somebody. We should leave those people something to find.”

“Who died and made you Maker?” Voxum grumbled.

Three steps was all it took for Andra to put Voxum at swordpoint. “Who died? Have you forgotten so quickly? How dare you?! He saved you. He saved your miserable life, and now he’d dead. I’ve never claimed to be the leader of this group. But no one else is stepping up to do the job. You want it? Its yours.”

She threw her sword to the ground with a clang, angrily brushing the tears from her eyes before advancing down the ramp to look at Lothering and collect herself. Alistair looked confusedly from one woman to the next, at a loss for what to do. Voxum sighed and scooped up the sword, glancing at the others for confirmation before descending next to Andra.

“Sorry about that,” she said, offering the sword back. “We’re all a little touchy. And I suspect we all owe Duncan. I can lead myself just fine, but a group? Not so much. The others feel much the same. Sescha’s the only other noble, but even she’s not had as much experience as you have, and she doesn’t know the surface world like we do. Alistair is the most experienced of us, but…”

“Me? Lead? No, no! I’m quite happy following, thank you,” Alistair provided.

Voxum nodded, continuing. “You willing to take up the gauntlet of fearless leader, Andra?”

Andra shook her head, chuffing. “I don’t know. Are you willing to follow?”

Voxum considered. “What does that mean, exactly? I’m not shining your shoes.”

“Heh. And I wouldn’t want you to. Let me think about it. Like you said, we’re all a little touchy. I don’t want to say something I don’t mean. We’ll talk about it in camp tonight?”

“Sure. So what do we do, now that we’re here?”

“We need news; Chantry, tavern, locals. We need coin and/or equipment, so if you can pick up any quick little odd jobs, go for it. We could use friends – the lasting kind. I’m not expecting to find any here, but you never know. What we don’t need are enemies. Try not to piss anyone off.”

Voxum pointed at Mirun. “I bet you know how to drink. We’ll be in the tavern.” Vena followed them, silently.

“There is no way I’m going into the Chantry,” waved off Isallin.

“Too many Templars for your tastes, too? Let’s go chat up some locals then,” Morrigan offered.

Osane moved next to Alistair. “I know they won’t like my magic, but the Chantry is where the injured will be taken. I’ll go there.”

“Right behind you. Maybe I can help wave them off.” Alistair said as he joined her.

“I guess that leaves us…” Sescha said a bit nervously.

“I guess so. Anything in particular strike your fancy?” Andra asked.

“Not pissing people off?”

Andra chuckled, despite herself. “Sounds good to me.”

Several hours later had them regrouping at the other side of the highway, plus one very large and imposing grey man accompanying Vena, and a small lovely woman in Chantry robes that was following Mirun.

“Um, Vena? Who is that?” Andra asked hesitantly.

“Sten.”

“I…see. And he’s with you because…?”

“He is coming with us.”

“Uh huh.” Andra turned to the new red-head. “And you?”

“I am Leliana. I too would like to join your quest against the Blight.” Her accent was Orlesian.

“Ah. Well, I-“

“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!” The call came from the road above them.

Alistair shuddered, “Darkspawn!”

In an instant weapons were drawn as the group charged up the ramp to the highway where two dwarves were fighting off a small swarm of hurlocks and genlocks. Two dwarves against the swarm was a losing battle, but the group of Wardens was a small swarm themselves and the battle was over in an instant.

“Oh! That’s a mighty timely arrival there, my friend. I’m much obliged,” said the elder of the two dwarves. Andra glanced at Sescha, and made a small motion with her head.

“You’re welcome,” Sescha smiled.

“The name’s Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy.”

“Hello,” the younger dwarf said diligently. Andra thought he sounded a bit simple.

Bodahn continued. “Road’s been mighty dangerous these days. Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we’re going the same way.”

“It’s a bit complicated. We’re Grey Wardens. We wouldn’t mind the company though,” Sescha offered by way of explaination.

“Grey Warden’s, eh? That does explain a lot. No offense, but I suspect there’s more excitement on your path than my boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune, though.”

“Goodbye!” Sandal added cheerfully.

Andra couldn’t help but grin to herself as they continued down the highway to find a spot to camp for the night.


	16. Campfire Tales: Cohesion

Andra waited until everyone was set up and the stew was bubbling merrily over the fire before drawing attention to herself again. “So what did everyone find? Let’s start with our new friends…”

The red-headed human piped up for herself before Voxum could. “Greetings to you all. As I said before, my name is Leliana. I was a lay sister in the Chantry, but I have some skills that can help you, and-“

“And she’s adorable! I mean, just look at her!” Voxum cut Leliana off. “Loghain’s men were inside the tavern. Said they were looking for us. Apparently there’s quite the bounty on our heads. Not just us, either. The whole order. Something about how _we_ were the ones to betray the king and leave him to die. They wanted a fight, so we gave them one. Leliana stepped in to help. Lil and I _tried_ to send them packing, but _somebody_ wanted them dead.”

“I figured we’d be better off if he didn’t get back to report to Loghain where we were!” Mirun claimed, defending herself. “Besides, he called me stumpy. I ain’t stumpy.”

Andra’s lips twitched in a smile.

“Also, got a lead on a group of mercs called the ‘Blackstone Irregulars’,” Voxum continued. “Apparently they want to be friends – kind of a ‘you scratch our back we’ll scratch yours’ thing. Right now they’re looking for a few people who signed up with them to come in for training and for some people who disappeared with supplies. We find ‘em, we get paid. They probably have other odd jobs for us too. Generally speaking the idea is the group gets more powerful and they back us when the time comes.”

“Sounds good to me. We need all the help we can get,” Andra agreed. “What about the big guy?”

Vena shrugged. “You just said we need all the help we can get. He’s big. He doesn’t want to die.”

“That’s it?”

“What more do you want?”

Andra rubbed her temples at an oncoming headache. “The same thing I want from all of you. To know exactly where your skills lie. To know that I can trust you at my back, and to have you know that you can trust me at yours. Voxum, you wanted to know what it would mean to follow me. It means this: The Grey Wardens will do whatever it takes to stop a Blight. Whatever. It. Takes. I expect that from you. I expect you not to shy away from your duty because it seems scary, or because it goes against the moral code you’ve been taught. I expect you to put aside your prejudices. I don’t care if you like each other – but you have to be able and willing to work together. I don’t mind if you question my orders _outside of battle_ – I certainly don’t mind explaining myself, and am open to suggestions. But in battle, you’d better do as I say when I say it. It could save lives. Maybe someone else’s, maybe your own. And yes, that means that any mistakes made fall on me. So tell me; can you handle that? If so, who are you and how can I best put you to work?”

There were nods all around the fire before Alistair spoke up.

“Why don’t you answer the question first, Andra? That way we know what you’re looking for.”

“Sure. My full name is Andra Cousland, possibly Teryna of Highever. Of course since I’m a Grey Warden, the title will fall to my brother, Fergus...assuming he’s alive. My brother is older, but he made it pretty clear he didn’t want the job, so I got most of the training. I’ve been trained as both a court diplomat and a soldier.”

“Well, I’m Alistair. Grey Warden. Former Templar-in-training. Raised by Arl Eamon. Who by the way, is apparently quite ill – his knights have been sent out looking for the Holy Ashes of Andraste as a last ditch miracle cure.”

“Voxum Tabris. I’m from Denerim. I worked the sheets. I also killed people for money. I’m pretty mean with a dagger. And my fingers. And my tongue.” She winked at Alistair who blushed furiously.

“My name is Isallin Surana. I blow people up. Or zap them with lightning. Then I raise their corpses and make them fight their friends. It’s hilarious. We did some of that in Lothering. Got money for it too.” She handed over a small but heavy purse of coin.

“Mirun Brosca, here. I’m a duster. You need something stolen, thieved, disappeared, or kneecaps broken I’m your girl. You want something done more dainty, ask someone else.”

“Do you really still need an answer from me? Fine. I’m Osane Amell. I heal. And cook. I suppose I can cast a basic attack spell, but really if you’re depending on me for our offensive power, we’re way past screwed. And I heard about that grey giant from the Revered Mother. They say he killed a whole family with his bare hands – including the children!”

“That just means he’s good at what he does. Vhenarellan Mahariel by the way. Vena. Whatever. I’m Dalish. I hunt.”

“I’m Sescha Aeducan, daughter of King Endrin of the Orzammar. Or I was before I was exiled.” Mirun snickered, making a motion to her facial tattoo. Sescha frowned but ignored the other dwarf. “I’ve been fighting since I was big enough to hold a weapon. Give me one and I can use it, don’t much care what it is.”

Andra turned to Leliana and the giant. “What about you two? You aren’t Wardens, but you’d be travelling in their company. You’re free to leave any time you like, but don’t act like you don’t know going in what you’re getting into.”

The huge man spoke up first. “I am Sten of the Beresaad. What was said is true. With you I hope to find my atonement.”

“And…what exactly is a beresaad?” Andra asked tentatively.

“You have not heard of the Qunari? I am not surprised. Someday you will. The Beresaad are the eyes and ears of the Aarishok.”

“Qunari, Beresaad, Aarishok…it’s all mush to me, sorry.”

Sten heaved a sigh before speaking. “I am a soldier of some skill. That is all you need to know.”

“That’s an answer I can handle. Thanks,” Andra smiled.

“You are…welcome.” Sten seemed surprised.

Leliana spoke next, “My skills will come in handy for you, I am sure. I can fight. I can do more than fight.”

Before Andra could ask Leliana to define what she meant, a cart rolled into view. At its head were two familiar dwarves and one unfamiliar human. They pulled up to one side, well away from the other tents. She stood, brushing the dirt off her leggings.

“Hello there. Can we help you?” she called out.

“Oh! Hello again!” Bodahn called back with a wave. The human also waved but said nothing. Andra decided to deal with the dwarves first, striding over so they wouldn’t be yelling across the campsite.

“Bodahn and Sandal, right? What are you doing here?”

“Indeed! An excellent memory, miss! Well, we got our things cleaned up and were travelling along when poor Sandal began to get tired. We saw your campsite and I thought to myself ‘what safer place is there than the camp of the Grey Wardens?’. If you don’t mind, that is. We won’t be a bother, I promise. I’ll even offer you a discount for the trouble! Plus you can take advantage of Sandal’s, erm, unique skills. He can enchant certain items you see. Do you know about enchanting?”

“I know the basics. My father had an extensive library. And we’d be happy to have you.” Andra tried to ignore the tightening in her stomach at the thought of that library now, burnt and ruined.

“Excellent! Tell the nice lady, thank you!”

“Thank you!” Sandal echoed.

“Know anything about him?” Andra pointed to the other man.

“Only that he was looking for the ‘surviving Wardens’. Seemed quite desperate about it too.”

“Right. Thanks.” Andra drifted closer to the other man, looking for signs of betrayal. “Can I help you?”

“Oh I hope so. Are you the surviving Grey Wardens? My name is Levi Dryden. Did Duncan ever mention me? I think we can help each other…”

Andra’s heart raged. Dryden was a black name among the nobility of Ferelden, and he spoke of Duncan as a friend who’s passing hadn’t torn her heart out – and was possibly her fault for daring to care about him. She spun on her heel and walked back to the fire, ignoring the protests of the man behind her.

“Andra?” Sescha asked.

“Bodahn and Sandal are welcome to stay in our camp. Someone else needs to deal with the other guy. I can’t.”

“How come?” Alistair questioned. Andra met his eyes, anger and sorrow in them, and perhaps something else – Alistair’s own eyes widened as he took an involuntary step backwards. “I’ll go.”

Andra grabbed a bowl full of stew and managed to eat it without looking at anyone else, quietly assigning shifts as she waited for Alistair’s return. She’d nearly finished her meal when he did.

“So, his name is Levi Dryden,” Alistair started. “He knew Duncan. Turns out Duncan promised to help him find this place called ‘Soldier’s Peak’. They were about ready to go, but then the Blight happened, so Duncan had to postpone it. It’s an old Grey Warden Stronghold that pretty much everyone has forgotten about and isn’t easy to get to. Levi’s grandmother was a Waden-Commander, the last one in Ferelden. He wants to know what happened – reclaim his family name, you know? That’s what he gets out of it. We’d get a base of operations. I think it’s a good idea, but I said I’d discuss it with you guys first.”

“I think that sounds like a smart plan,” Voxum agreed.

“A place to actually rest, fix equipment, and so on while we build this army of ours? Yes, please.” Sescha nodded.

“Having a foothold that is easily defendable to return to is always a good idea when invading,” Sten added.

“We aren’t _invading_ anything!” Alistair argued.

“No? I was under the impression this country’s current ruler did not want you here.”

“That’s not-”

The feelings within Andra were only building. _Past tense. Alistair has already accepted that Duncan is gone._ She could hear the other’s talking, but their words made progressively less and less sense. “It’s good. We’ll do that first,” she interrupted. The buzzing in her head was increasing to ever louder levels.

“Andra?” Alistair sounded concerned. With effort she raised her eyes to look at him. “Andra! Shit.” The world went white.


	17. Dream

The white remains white, however, surprisingly; there is sensation, but no pain. At first it is too much for her to handle, and she cannot make sense of it, but it isn’t painful. Slowly the world shapes. This time it remains formless other than her and him, but it is enough. Slowly the sensation condenses to become skin on skin. His chest to her back. His fingers slowly running up and down her arms. His lips nuzzling her neck, lightly pressing kisses there. His tongue tracing around the shell of her ear and nibbling on her lobe before dropping down her neck and gently sucking where neck meets shoulder. His fingers lightly move over her smooth stomach and trace her lowest ribs. She sighs happily and leans back into his embrace.

_Mine?_

Yes.

_You understand?_

I-…no. Why? Why all of this?

His grip tightens on her, painfully so. The white takes on shape and color. Urthemiel the Tainted is perched on a bridge, roaring orders to the thousands of darkspawn below. Somehow she knows they are underground. He is angry and in pain and driven. Tears sprout from her eyes as realization hits her, and the scene fades away.

You don’t want this any more than we do.

_No. But I must. You. It is the same, but different. A want-need-desire._

His hands dance higher, just barely grazing the skin of her breasts, and suddenly she is on fire. Her back arches in need as she tries to increase the contact, but he knows what he’s doing and keeps his touch light as he traces the outlines of her breasts. She tips her head back and he dips his head to kiss her, his hands continuing their dance. There is an ache growing within her that she can’t define. She can feel him smile against her lips as his hands play closer, brushing against her nipples. They tighten under his touch and she whimpers.

_Not yet. Just remember – I don’t share._

She feels him fading away and nearly cries at the loss of something she doesn’t understand.


	18. To Be A Warden: A Place to Lay Your Head

Andra awoke in her own tent, alone. The ache was still there, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Worse was the dual-knowledge that Duncan was dead and nothing would have stopped it, and yet Duncan’s death was her fault for daring to have feeling for him. She got up and exited the tent. Several eyes looked up from a camp that was already packing up to greet her.

“Morning, fearless leader!” Voxum greeted with a teasing grin. “You must have been really tired to have just fallen over like that. We decided to let you sleep in. Are you still good with heading up to Soldier’s Peak?”

Andra had to think hard to remember what on Thedas she was talking about. “Yeah. Where is this place anyway?”

“It’s in northern Ferelden, tucked into the mountains. Our best bet would be to take the Highway around Lake Calenhad,” Alistair answered.

“Good enough. Do we have enough money to buy horses for everyone? It would be faster that way.”

Alistair laughed. “What, you’re joking, right? No? Look, we _maybe_ have enough money to buy a horse for our stuff. If we don’t want to eat anything but what Vena catches for the next week.”

“Okay, okay. We’re walking. We’ll use the money for new boots.”

Fortunately there were few travelers on the road, and those that were seemed disinclined to mess with a group their size. The weather held, so they made good time, despite the distance. Andra was blessedly dream free, though many of her companions were plagued by nightmares. At the entrance to the mine tunnels, Levi took the lead. He seemed to have an uncanny knack for choosing the right path despite never making it through the tunnels before.

“And here we are. Soldier’s Peak. Maker’s Breath, look at the size of her. What a fortress.”

And it was. Andra moved to take the lead when Isallin stopped her with a hand. Her nose was wrinkled as if she smelled something foul.

“Be careful. Something isn’t right here.”

Andra nodded, drawing her weapon and the group advanced. As they passed the gate a ghostly visage seemed to appear before them of man giving orders to ‘Starve the wardens out’. As Andra was about to ask Isallin for an explaination the old skeletons in the courtyard rose, seemingly in reaction to their presence and a fight was on. With so many fighters, the old bones were simply outnumbered, and the Wardens made short work of their opponents.

“What’s going on Isallin?” Andra demanded.

“The Veil is thin here. The Fade is…leaking…through. Visions of the past, I think.”

“Lovely. Well, we’re here to clear the place out, so let’s do it right. Nice and slow, room by room.”

More visions and more ancient skeletons brought them to what would have been the Warden-Commander’s office. Through the visions it had been revealed that Levi’s great-grandmother had rebelled against King Arland, turning to a mage named Avernus to use blood-magic and demons to help them in their fight. Levi seemed to be struggling with the knowledge that his lineage was in fact as dirty as history had claimed it to be. Andra had little sympathy. Inside the office, someone moved. Andra’s group gathered for an attack.

“Step no further Wardens. This one would speak with you.” It turned to reveal the armor of the Warden-Commander in the visions, but the face had rotted well beyond recognition.

“And why should I speak with you?” Andra’s eyes narrowed.

“Because this Peak is mine. This one is the Commander. Dryden. Sophia. All these things.”

Isallin snorted in disbelief. “Maybe once, but she is long gone. To claim those names is a lie. You are a demon, nothing more.”

“You have slain many of the demon ilk to get here. They attack on sight. I do not. Does that not make me different? This one would propose a deal.”

“You can’t be serious!” Alistair protested.

“It doesn’t…often…end well, a deal with a demon,” Isallin admitted.

“No, I don’t expect it does. Besides,” Andra’s smile was feral, “I like the armor.”

“You are a fool!”

“Not nearly as much of one as you, it would seem,” Isallin growled, as blood dripped from her hand. “Go back to the fade, demon. Begone.” A red glow surrounded Isallin which snapped forward and crushed the former Commanders head. The body crumbled. Alistair turned, weapon still drawn, eyes wide.

“Blood magic! By the Maker I should have known!”

“I suspect that Duncan did know. Any weapon to defeat the Blight. Put your prejudices aside. That’s what Andra said, and _you agreed_. Did you mean it?”

“I- yes, blast it all. Let’s just get this over with.” He looked a little green.

Andra touched his arm, concerned. “If you’d rather go back outside…”

“No. I want to finish this.”

The group worked through to a tower. Inside was a huge laboratory, and at work was an old mage who they recognized as an extremely old Avernus.

“I hear you,” he admonished. “Don’t disrupt my concentration.” He dropped something into a beaker of goo, observed the reaction, and made a few more notes in a thick journal before turning around. “Even now the demons seek to replenish their numbers. I assume I have you to thank for this temporary reprieve?”

“Avernus, yes? How are you still alive?” Andra asked, suspicious.

“I have only a short time left – my life is not extended by any demon, simply magic. As my body decayed I found ways to extend it, but that can only go so far. But I must ask, what is your intent? Why are you here?”

“We are here to recover Soldier’s Peak for the Grey Wardens. Thanks to the Veil we’ve seen what you’ve done.”

“It was necessary. Any tool, any iota of information that could defeat our enemies is justified. As a Warden, you should know that.”

Alistair frowned. “Necessary? Having to relieve yourself after an eight-hour ride is necessary. But there is no excuse for summoning demons.”

“Charming,” Avernus mused.

“Regardless, you’re the one who ripped the Veil. Can you fix it?”

“I can, but only if the demon possessing the body of Sophia Dryden is dealt with.”

“Already done.”

“Very well. Let us return to the summoning chamber, together then. The tear must be dealt with before anything else.” They followed Avernus back to the room in question. “I will unravel the summoning circles I created so long ago. The demons will not appreciate this. Waves of spirits and demons may come through. You must dispatch them so they do not disrupt me.”

Andra broke the group into four smaller groups, one at each circle; herself and Voxum, Alistair and Mirun, Sescha and Lelianna, and Sten and Morrigan (who had taken the form of a giant spider). Isallin, Osane, and Vena stayed back next to Avernus. She nodded their readiness to Avernus, who began to chant a language she was unfamiliar with. It didn’t take long before the demons noticed and they were engaged once again. Wave after wave poured through the rips. At last Avernus reached the final circle, and a true demon came through.

“A desire demon!” Isallin cautioned.

Andra growled at the newest opponent.

“My, but you are a big one…” the demon purred at Sten. Sten simply swung his claymore at the purple woman. She dodged out of the way, laughing.

“And you…so full of desire. You’re practically a desire demon yourself! The things I could teach you…” She offered Voxum.

“I suspect it would be me teaching you, beastie…” Voxum grinned, her daggers flashing dark red.

The demon turned to Andra. “What about you sweet thing? You…” The lust dropped out of its voice, and it almost seemed scared. “You are already marked, but not by any of my kind. What are you?”

Andra’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a Grey Warden.” She stabbed forward as Alistair took the killing blow.

Avernus was finished. “It’s over. The Veil is strong now. Stronger, at least. And what now, Wardens? What about me? Can I be left to my experiments in peace?”

“I’m not sure,” Andra considered. “There was more beyond this?” She motioned to the now defunct summoning circles.

“I have other experiments. Or I did before I ran out of subjects. It was originally intended to stem the tide of this demonic invasion. Blood magic comes from demons. They could counter every bit of lore I know. But darkspawn taint. That is alien to them. And it has power. The Wardens foolishly use it only to sense the darkspawn. My research has discovered so much more – and hinted at even greater heights. This knowledge could not only save Soldier’s Peak – with it the Grey Wardens could grow even more powerful!

“I see. Well, I won’t be your judge; there’s a Blight on and we need every edge. You can continue your research – BUT there are rules. Don’t touch my people. We intend to make this a base of sorts, and I can’t have them scared that there’s a monster in the tower who will snatch them away in the night. You tell me what you need, and I’ll do what I can for you. The Warden’s aren’t exactly popular at the moment, so no guarantees.”

“Fine. I’m close to a new break-through as it is. I could use a few more test subjects, but I can make do with what I have for now. I do have one thing I can give you.”

“We’ll meet you outside.”

The group trooped back they way they had come. Once in the courtyard, Levi was shaking his head, stunned. “Well. You’ve done it. Soldier’s Peak is safe again. You’ve got a whole fortress now. That old geezer Avernus deserves the gallows, if you ask me, but…people will do queer things to survive. I know the Wardens do what they must, but I don’t know about this – allowing him to continue, I mean. But there was no proof to redeem my family.”

Andra nodded. “Even if you had proof, Sophia’s actions were damning – at least to the rest of the world.”

“For so long I was focused on the past. On answers. But I think I would have been better off had I stayed at home. I find myself at a loss.”

“Any chance I could convince you to stay on?”

“Oh no! I’m no good with a blade, you saw that. I suppose I should start plying my trade again. You’re gathering an army, and every army needs supplies, right? I could stick around here for a while. Maybe even do some good. I’d like that.”

Avernus appeared in the doorway. “Here. My notes and the results of my research. There’s only enough for one Warden, however.” He held a journal and a small vial of some viscous liquid, which Andra took.

“Thank you.” She flipped through the journal, shaking her head. “Can anyone make sense of this? Isallin?”

The elvish blood mage took the book, reading quickly before summarizing. “He claims that he’s found a way to increase the power of the taint in our blood while at the same arresting the corruption of the Taint within us that…apparently kills us?!” She spun on Alistair.

“Oh that. Yes. In addition to all the other fun things about being a Warden, we get – at most – thirtyish years to live from our Joining before the Taint kills us. We call it the Calling.”

“Great. _That’s_ something Duncan forgot to mention. Anyway, whatever’s in the bottle does that – theoretically. It could also speed up the Taint and just outright kill whoever drinks it.”

“I don’t think he would have done all of this just to kill one of us with a bottle of poison, knowing the others are right outside to kill him. Still, I won’t push it. Any volunteers?”

“You’re joking, right?” Alistair asked.

“If no one else wants it, I’m doing it. I’m asking first, it’s only polite.” Andra smiled, and Alistair couldn’t help but grin back. After a beat of silence Andra nodded. “Right then. Cut me down if I become a drooling idiot or something, okay?” She opened the vial and tossed it back.

Pain wracked through her body, and she was suddenly aware of staring at the sky and screaming before everything went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there beloved readers! A few notes for future reference:  
> 1\. Please note that I've gone ahead and made this fic 'E'. If you read and go "You're kidding right? That's totally just 'M'" Let me know - I'll be happy to down grade it, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.  
> 2\. Added an Others/Others Relationship tag. Its non-specific I know, but I was thinking about it, and honestly I think if I added all the tags this fic really needs the tag list will be longer than the fiction, so I went generic.  
> 3\. Changed 'Sexual Content' to 'Explicit Sexual Content'. This is in the same vein as the above two notes. If I listed everything....oh man. I'm also willing to change it back if my definition of explicit is actually just 'M'  
> 4\. See those main bold tags? The 'warnings' ones? They're there for a reason. The next chapter plays nice about it. Future chapters will not. You've been warned :)


	19. Dream

Her eyes are closed – no, there is something blocking her sight. She is lying flat on something soft, arms stretched above her head and they cannot move. At her ear there is a soft murmur of assurance that he is with her, that she is safe, and she does not panic. She can feel his presence next to her. His fingers intertwine briefly into hers, before trailing down her arms leaving fiery paths in their wake. His hands moved across her collar bone and up to gently cup her face, pulling her into a fierce kiss that restarted the ache within her. As his tongue pushes into her mouth his hands continued their journey downward over her breasts. The ache within her increases as her back arches into him, and this time he doesn’t deny her the additional contact, taking one in each hand and lightly pinching the her nipples into taut peaks. She moans as he breaks the kiss to take one into his mouth, sucking gently and lightly grazing his teeth across it. He pulls off with a soft pop and blows cool air on her, causing her to crinkle up even more, before moving to give her other breast the same treatment. She writhes under him, unsure of what she wants – only that it is **more.**

_Mine?_

Yours.

He kisses over her smooth stomach, dipping his tongue into her belly button and trailing his fingers along her sides. She moans again softly as his hands slide over her hips and across her thighs. His kisses trail further down as his hands slide up, gently pushing her legs apart. She resists him now, suddenly unsure of where this is leading. He growls possessively.

_Mine!_

He pushes her legs apart forcefully and something prevents her from bringing them back together. His hands return to her, and he spreads her apart. She can feel his eyes on her. She feels obscene, being so exposed, bound, and blind. She fights him, but has no leverage.

No!

_You are Mine._

I don’t want this.

_But I **do**. I love you._

This isn’t love. You don’t do this to someone you love if they don’t want it!

_Love: a want-need-desire for a person-lover. I love you._

His tongue licks a stripe on her sex and she moans despite herself. He does it again, slower, and it sends a shiver into the core of her being. His hands shift, holding her open with only one hand now as the other begins an exploration of that most intimate part of her. His touches are light as he traces her center and up to her nub. She cries out, only partly in denial of what is happening.

_Interesting._

His touches increase and decrease in pressure, speed, and location. Blind, she cannot be sure but she suspects that he is gauging her reactions. Soon he has found the exactly correct spot, and she can feel something building inside of her. She moans as his fingers pulse over her, completely ignoring the rest of her sex and it’s making her ache all over. His tongue replaces fingers and the feeling intensifies. Her hearing vanishes in a roar of blood to her head.   Suddenly her nipples tighten of their own accord as a scream rips its way from her throat and her abdomen muscles clench and unclench. His finger, ever questing, traces over her slit once more. He slowly slides it into her, and she squirms again, resisting the intrusion. With a growl her hips are suddenly pinned down.

_So wet._

Again at first his exploration is more cold and clinical than intended for pleasure, probing at her depths. It allows her to regain her mind somewhat, and she tries again.

This isn’t right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

_It is time. You are ready, and I am tired of waiting._

This isn’t how I want this to happen!

_Your desires matter little. You are Mine. I love you._

No!!

_Yes._

He moves, pulling away from her, and for a moment she thinks she has made him understand, despite his words to the contrary. Then she feels his hands on either side of her head, his weight on her stomach, and something probing at her entrance. There is a moment where he seems to play with her, laying light kisses down across her brow and jaw as the something gently pushes. Suddenly he snaps his hips forward and she is filled, completed, whole, and in pain. He draws back slowly, continuing to kiss her before snapping them forward again, and she gasps. The sensation is overwhelming – even drowning out the pain she feels. His mouth captures hers and he sets up a rhythm, his tongue matching what his lower body is doing to her. The sensation of before begins to build again within her and she moans into his mouth. Knowing what she wants, the restraints on her hips are removed. Her hips move to meet his with every thrust, and every push builds the sensation more, far past the point where her body broke before.

I can’t!

_You can._

I’m going to die!

_Only a little death._

Please!

_??_

Stop!

_You don’t really want that do you?_

Yes. No. I don’t know.

_Tell me._

I- please, please.

_Tell me._

I want this.

_Again._

I want this!

_Say it._

Yours. Only yours.

His hips push harder into her, one hand dropping between them to that place he found before, and moments later her world explodes. There is nothing but the sensation between her legs and the stars behind her eyes. As it fades away and she becomes aware of her body once more, she realizes he is still pumping into her.

_So tight. So very tight when you did that. Felt good. Do it again._

I can’t. I don’t know how.

_Then I’ll make you, like I did before._

He touches her and she screams, overly sensitive. He doesn’t care, and continues. Her body trembles under the strain, unused to being used in such a way. Her bindings all vanish, and her legs naturally wrap around his waist. At this new position he sinks even deeper into her and she moans, throwing her head back, her arms twining around him. Still riding the wave of her last, it doesn’t take long for him to bring her to that peak again, even higher than before. Her fingers twist in his hair.

Please.

_??_

I need-

_Yes?_

Make me Yours.

_Yes!_

He crashes into her, and she him. A moment more and they are both over that edge, plunging into the stars. She claws at his back, bites into his shoulder, desperate for any purchase not to lose herself in that abyss. He roars as he spends himself within her and it seems to shake the very heavens. She is floating, aware of him next to her but little else.

_Rest, my Love._

Everything fades to black.


	20. Campfire Tales: Eyes One Me

Andra started awake with a small shriek, struggling against the bonds around her.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay, Andra. Look at me. Look at me. Shh-shh-shh.” Alistair’s voice was quiet, but insistent. Andra complied, calming as she realized the ‘bonds’ were his arms. They were in her tent, alone, and Alistair had pulled her into his lap, holding her tightly. He sighed. “That’s what I thought. Take a deep breath. Remember where you are. No one is trying to hurt you. You’re still in camp, outside Soldier’s Peak.”

“Who…? What…?” Andra tried. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

“You passed out after taking Avernus’ concoction. It looked a lot like your Joining, actually. Judging by the way you were thrashing around and moaning, I’m guessing you were dreaming. It’s not uncommon for new Wardens. The dreaming, not the fainting. It gets better over time; you sort of learn how to shut it out.”

“Shut out the dreams? Why would I…?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because dreaming about a giant dragon-archdemon screaming at hordes of darkspawn is unpleasant and gives you nightmares? Just a guess.”

“That’s what you dream about?”

“That’s what all Warden’s dream about. It’s kind of our thing…why?” Alistair’s voice suddenly turned suspicious.

“I- No reason.”

“No. Between this and your eyes...I think this is important. Out with it.”

“What about my eyes?”

“You don’t know? I guess Duncan never got the chance to talk to you about it. But it doesn’t get you out of my question. Your dreams?”

“Ehrm. Its kind of personal…” Andra said, blushing.

“I don’t- oh. Oh my.” Alistair’s eyes widened as he realized what she meant. “I see. So you don’t dream about the angry dragon that’s trying to kill us all?”

“Well, sort of, but…”

“Wait, let me get this straight. Your dreams are _personal_ but they’re also about a huge angry dragon that wants to eat us? Either you have worse nightmares than the rest of us, or you are one very kinky lady.”

“It’s not like that! Urthemiel doesn’t-!” Andra cut herself off.

“What?! You’re on a first name basis. With the archdemon. That does it.”

Alistair stood, hauling her with him in his broad arms, ducking out of the tent. Outside she saw the tents she expected to, but also several new faces milling around in afternoon sunlight. The female Wardens shot her glances, but apparently something on Alistair’s face kept them silent.

“How long-?” She started to ask.

“Nearly a week. I’ve been taking care of you. Those are Levi’s family. They’ve been cleaning up the Peak. You can meet them later.” Two stairs at a time, Alistair ascended the stairs into the fortress, still carrying her.

“I can walk you know.”

“You can fall over from hunger you mean. I’d rather you not.” He maneuvered past some piles of rubble and through the base to Avernus’ Tower. “Avernus! We need to talk.”

“Very well, boy. No need to bellow.” The old man turned from his lab table and saw Andra. “Oh! You’re awake are you?”

“Apparently,” Andra said dryly.

Alistair was not to be put off. “There’s something different about Andra. Duncan – our former Warden-Commander – was going to look into it, but he never got the chance. You’re the oldest Warden we have access to right now, and you like research.”

Avernus sighed. “Oh, very well. What’s going on? What are her symptoms?”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Andra demanded.

Alistair took a big breath and began. “Your eyes changed during your Joining. They went white, but we’ve seen that before. It was afterwards – your pupils they…well, they went all predatory.   Like a cat. Slits, instead of circles, you know? And the iris was shot through with this kind of prism-diamond color. They were still golden, but… I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like that. Duncan said he hadn’t either. They did it again in camp after Lothering, right before you passed out, and again when you drank Avernus’ research. They were still like that when you woke up just now. They’re back to normal now.” He turned to Avernus, “Do you remember what that desire demon said to her when you were closing the veil? That she had been **marked** and not by, quote, one of us, unquote. And now she’s telling me that she doesn’t get normal Warden dreams of death and destruction. She’s on a **first name basis** with the archdemon. She dreams about something… _personal…_ ”

Avernus frowned. “I didn’t hear that from the demon, but I was a bit occupied at the time. There are several questions I need more information on. Let’s start with the eyes. Let me see.”

Alistair came closer, still holding Andra as if she weighed nothing. Avernus stepped forward, peering into Andra’s eyes.

“Well, they’re certainly a striking color. Tell me, have they always been like this?”

“You mean golden?” Andra shrugged. “Yes. I was born with them. Alistair, if I promise to stay sitting, will you put me down? I’m starving!” Her stomach rumbled in demonstration.

“Fine. Don’t move. I’ll find you some cheese or something.” Alistair sat her in a chair and left.

Avernus waited until the other man was gone before continuing. “What else? You’re holding something back. I can’t help you unless you tell me everything.”

In response, Andra stood carefully, using the chair-back as a support and pulled her pant-line down over her left hip. “I figured this was what the demon was talking about, so I wasn’t too worried about it. And before you ask, yes, I was born with this too.”

Avernus’ eyebrows rose in surprise, fingers hovering over her skin. “Sit down before you fall over.” He moved to one of his book shelves and began to peruse it as Andra righted her clothing and sat back down. “Were there other events at the time of your birth?”

“What do you mean?”

“Shooting stars, an eclipse, a storm out of nowhere, anything along those lines.”

“Nothing that I’ve been told about.”

“When is your name-day? I can look it up for myself.”

“Wintersend, Guardian of 9:11.”

“I’ll look into it later. Now then; your choice, dreams or names? I need more details.”

“It’s kind of the same thing, and either way I really don’t see why it matters…” Andra pouted.

“It matters,” Avernus replied as he found the book he was looking for and returned to her, “because Alistair is right. It’s possible that my research would affect you similarly to a Joining, but otherwise you should only be experiencing the usual changes – increased appetite, nightmares, sensing darkspawn and so on. I assume someone would have mentioned your eyes changing to you if it started before the Joining. I understand your reluctance, given the apparently personal nature, but details _are_ required.”

Andra sighed. “I dreamed when I Joined. It was of a dragon. The dragon turned into a man. His name was Urthemiel. We’ve…talked a couple times since then. Once was when I took your potion.”

“Talked? That’s all? Alistair made it sound more intimate than that.” He looked up from paging through his book.

Andra blushed, her most recent dream surfacing.

“I see. How far has it gone?”

“What does it matter? It’s just a dream, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no. As we’ve said, most of us have nightmares of a dragon – one the Old Gods. What we hear is real. It’s the call of the old gods, beckoning the darkspawn to their release or giving orders to their horde through the Taint itself. That you’re experiencing something entirely different is concerning to say the least. That you have its personal attention, moreso.”

“You mean I- he- oh Maker!” The implications suddenly came crashing down around her. Avernus’ eyes widened. “It wasn’t by choice! Not at first. He- we-” She hung her head.

“Tell me.” It was a command.

Andra’s voice was soft. “I’m his. He made me his. I…I begged him for it, in the end. I wanted it.”

There was a clatter as Alistair returned, dropping the tray of cheese, crackers, sausage, fruits, water, and wine he’d been carrying. “Did I hear that right? In your dream the archdemon seduced and raped you?”

“Um…maybe? I’m a little fuzzy on that part.”

“Ah.” Avernus began to read, and the silence stretched between the three of them for several minutes, before he spoke again.

“This happened after you ingested my potion, yes? I suspect you had some latent connection to the archdemon which was awoken by the Joining. The additional dragon blood from my research may have given it a further hold over you. All I can offer is to do more research into the subject and get back to you when I know more. Until then, I’d simply suggest trying to resist it as best you can.”


	21. To Be A Warden: Breaking It Down

Alistair had hauled Andra away from the tower and into the now clean Warden-Commander’s room, before depositing her unceremoniously on the bed. He disappeared again without a word, and Andra took the time to look around. She’d seen plenty of rubble and dust on her way in, though the bodies had all been removed. None of that was here though. This was completely habitable – centuries of dirt and grime cleaned away, Sophia Dryden’s body gone, along with all of her effects, new clean sheets on a new mattress. It left the room feeling empty and unlived in. She could see the edge of an armor stand in one corner, a bookcase that was now empty, a desk that was now equally vacant. Alistair returned with the tray he’d been carrying before.

“Here’s your food. Eat slowly, go easy on the wine,” Alistair said as he sat down next to her.

“Thanks.”

Andra ate in silence for a while, cutting off slices of sausage and cheese with a paring knife.

“So…you want to talk about it?” Alistair finally asked.

Andra considered her answer, rolling several possibilities around in her mind. _He’s perfect. I wanted it. I didn’t want it. It’s my fault Duncan is dead. He’s claimed me. I’m his. Don’t reach out. Don’t get involved. He doesn’t share._ “No.”

“Ah.” Alistair leaned back slightly, stealing a grape off her tray and popping it into his mouth. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I’ve been a little distant with you. I got to know the others somewhat during their Joining. It was easy to, I don’t know, ignore what happened at Ostagar, I guess. You’ve taken on all the responsibility, but you’ve kind of been left out of the rest of it. I just want you to know that it- it isn’t intentional. If you ever need to talk, we’re here. I’m here.”

“I can’t…” she whispered.

“Can’t what?”

Andra sighed. “Can’t talk, can’t deal with this. We have a Blight to fight. I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself, and no one else has time for it either.”

“Hey. Everyone deserves time for themselves, even the de-facto Commander of the Grey. Especially if they’re having dreams…you know, like yours.”

Andra stood, wrapping her arms around herself, and walked a few paces away. “It only happened once, you know.”

“Oh? Because I was under the rather distinct impression you’d had multiple dreams about the archdemon.”

“I have! I just….he only…we…argh!” Andra grumbled to herself for a moment. “At the Joining, he…introduced himself. At camp he told me I’d never be alone again. When I drank Avernus’ concoction, that was when we…you know.”

“I thought it raped you? Now you sound like it was consensual.”

“It was a dream. Why can’t it be both?” Andra argued.

“Because that doesn’t make any sense!”

“Look,” Andra sighed. “I don’t really understand it either, okay? I’m a…I was a…Maker, I don’t even know any more. Does it count if your dreams are ‘sort-of-real’?”

“You mean you’ve never…?”

“No.”

“Wow. I assumed, with all the teasing…” Alistair trailed off.

“Well I haven’t. Not in real life. I hadn’t in my dreams either, until then. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I mean, if he’d lived,” Andra trailed off.

“He? Someone in camp?” Alistair asked carefully.

Andra laughed once, joylessly. “Duncan.”

Alistair stared, stunned. In that silence, Andra broke. Tears slid down her face as she spoke.

“I’m the daughter of Teryn Cousland, second most powerful man in Ferelden. I was expected to take his place when he retired. I was going to be married for a political match, I always knew that. But I’m nineteen. When Howe betrayed my family, slaughtered everyone I’ve ever cared about to a man, woman, and child, I was devastated. Duncan was the only one there. I would have died too, if not for him. It…grew…I guess. We talked about what would happen after I became a full Warden. If the darkspawn hadn’t attacked that night…but they did. Because of me.”

Alistair’s eye’s narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I dreamed once more. I haven’t told anyone. It was after the darkspawn overran us on the tower. He told me I was his. That I would have left him, but he ‘fixed’ it, because I belonged to him. Then I found out that Duncan was dead. It was my fault. The dream after Lothering was him gloating. Telling me that he doesn’t share.” She turned away, sobbing into her hands. “It’s all my fault! I can’t lead any of you. I’ll only be sending you to your doom!”

Alistair considered that for several minutes, before gathering Andra up in his broad arms and plopping her into his lap, cuddling her close. “Now you listen to me, because I don’t give advice worth listening to often. You’re leading us, because we’ve already decided on following you, and made you presents and everything. I’ll just go everywhere you go. I was planning on it anyway, but now it’s official. You’re our leader, but I’m your keeper. If you start doing anything weird or dragon-y, I get to cancel your orders. You get any more dreams, you tell me. You also get to listen to what Avernus told you to do, and **resist as best you can**. Among other things, I think that means living the life you want to live, and not what he tells you to do. Duncan died defending the King. The archdemon _did not_ make Loghain commit treason. That death – all those deaths lie at _his_ feet. We’ve all lost people and if we don’t get this Blight sorted we’re going to lose a lot more. We’re the only ones who can fight this thing, because somehow Loghain is too stupid to see the big picture.

“That doesn’t mean we should forget them…” Andra sniffled.

“Who said anything about forgetting? I’m talking about duty and vengeance. Can you be the de-facto Commander of the Grey?”

“I suppose, but…taking Duncan’s place?”

“Well, not officially,” the male Warden conceded, “but you’re the one leading us until we get official word from Weisshaupt. That gives you the battle-field promotion. On that line, we found a couple things for you.” Alistair motioned to the armor stand.

Andra stood, and moved to where she could see it better. There, cleaned, polished and oiled was Sophia Dryden’s armor, the griffons of the Grey Wardens _segreant,_ prominent on the chest plate, all silver and gold. To the left of the stand was a huge matching tower shield, also bearing the Grey Warden insignia, and on the right side was an ancient but well-kept sword, the cross-guard formed into griffon wings.

“They’re beautiful,” Andra breathed.

“They’re yours. Do you feel up to trying them on? Or addressing your troops?”

Andra frowned to herself. “You’ll be there for me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Give me a few minutes to clean up.”

An imposing figure exited the doors of Soldiers Peak, armor gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight efficient bun on the top of her head, and her golden eyes gazed coolly at the bustle of activity just beneath her. The shine of her armor quickly got her noticed, and by the time she had finished her decent of the stairs the Wardens under Andra’s command and the others had gathered to meet her, Alistair stepping quietly to her left side.

“I won’t ask anyone to do anything they don’t want to. But the truth is we have a lot of ground to cover. Loghain and the Blight have us scrambling, on the defense instead of the offense. We have treaties, but they’re spread out. We have some information about what’s going on across the kingdom, but not enough. I’d like to send some of you out to different parts of Ferelden to send back information here. As we get information we can act on, Alistair and I will join you, both to give you back up, and to give you a bit more veracity.”

“Do we get to choose where to go? What are the options?” Isallin asked skeptically.

“Of course. Like I said, this is volunteer only. The treaties are for the dwarves of Orzammar, the mages of the Circle, and the Dalish. I also want eyes on Denerim. My first stop is Redcliffe, and I’ll want to take a couple of people with me.”

The group soon sorted itself out. Vena and Isallin would head to the Brecillian Forest to keep an eye out for the Dalish, the two dwarves would return home to Orzammar, and Voxum and Leliana would go to Denerim. Osane and Sten would accompany Alistair and Andra to Redcliffe. Levi and his family would stay and act as messengers as well as continuing to clean up the Peak and make it usable.

They spent the rest of the available light making preparations for travel before indulging in a large feast. Alistair and Andra both avoided the topic of her eyes or dreams, and the atmosphere was generally light. The next morning brought a light rain as they broke camp and went their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, Beloved Readers! I had a bit of a mental block with this chapter - I was torn between not wanting to move Alistair and Andra too quickly versus making Andra seem too hard and unapproachable versus making Andra overly full of angst to the point of silliness. I hope its up to snuff.


	22. Gathering An Army: Redcliffe (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anda, Alistair, Osane Amell, Sten

The trip to Redcliffe was, in Andra’s eyes, surprisingly tense. Sten was his usual terse self, with little to say when prompted, and even less when he wasn’t. Alistair oscillated between apparent concern for her and some private concern of his own. Osane was generally a quiet woman, and attempts at conversation usually ended in nervous silence. It wasn’t until they crested a hill and came in sight of the village that Alistair stopped them.

“Andra, can I talk to you for a second. Alone?”

“Sure, what’s wrong?” The two stepped away from the others, speaking quietly.

“I’m not really sure how to tell you this…”

“Look, Alistair. I can tell something’s been bothering you. Spit it out.”

“It’s just that,” Alistair blew out an explosive breath, “You know that Arl Eamon raised me before the Chantry took me for Templar training. Well, it’s because I’m a bastard. The fatherless kind, not the other kind, thanks.”

“I kind of figured. So…what. Not a happy homecoming? Arl Eamon not going to be thrilled to see the fruits of his labor? He’ll just have to get over it.”

“No, it’s not that. That was the popular rumor – that I was Eamon’s, but it’s not true. I’m actually…well, my father was King Maric.”

“King Maric. You’re a prince?”

“Maker, no! It was made quite clear to me that I was in no way in line for the throne, and I’m perfectly okay with that.”

Andra considered. “Maybe you weren’t. But have you considered that with Cailan dead and no heirs, you _are_ in fact next in line, bastard or not?”

“But I don’t want that! No, if there’s a candidate to be found it’s in Eamon. He’s Queen Rowan’s brother.”

“And that makes him no different than Queen Anora or Loghain, in the eyes of the nobility. You are the Theirin, the one with the blood of the Ferelden royalty running through your veins, not him. I can respect not wanting it – but you may not have a choice, Alistair.” Andra looked at him sadly. “Duty sometimes demands sacrifice.”

“I-”

Alistair’s protest was cut off by another voice. “Thank the Maker! Someone has come to help us at last!” They looked up to see a young man running desperately across the bridge they’d stopped just short of.

“Cease your prattle. We are here to see your Arl Eamon.” Sten demanded in a monotone.

“Then, has no one heard?!”

Osane stepped forward, laying a kind hand on the youth’s arm. “We’ve heard about Eamon’s illness, if that’s what you mean…”

“No! We haven’t heard from the castle in days! Now there are monsters attacking us every night! You’re telling us that no one has heard? None of our messages for help have gotten out?”

“Is there someone in charge we can speak to?” Andra asked.

“Of course. Forgive me. I’ll take you to see Bann Teagan.”

“Alistair? By the Maker it’s good to see you, boy! But what are you doing here?”

“We came to see Eamon. The country – it needs him. Loghain betrayed the King and would have everyone believing that the Wardens are the traitors.”

“I know. Believe me – not everyone is buying his story. I wish I could take you to see Eamon, but I’m afraid that’s impossible. The village is under attack by walking corpses, more every night. If there is anything in my power to protect these people I shall do so. I will not leave them to their fate, but I’m well aware that I cannot ask you to make the same sacrifice.”

“You know I’d help you, Teagan, but it isn’t my call to make.” Alistair looked to Andra.

“This is a waste of time, Andra. We should be fighting the Blight, not whatever haunts these people,” Sten complained.

“Tell me, Sten. You are an army man, correct?” Andra asked.

“Yes. What of it?”

“Tactically speaking, here is your situation. There is a large threat an unknown distance away. You and your men are severely outclassed in manpower, weaponry and supplies. There is a village where your men can get reinforcements, supplies and so on, potentially as a permanent outpost. However they are under a smaller threat that you can deal with in the immediate now, although that threat is not a part of the larger threat. What do you do?”

“I nullify the small threat as quickly as possible in order to gain a long term advantage in the overall war.” The Qunari answered.

“And that is exactly what we must do here. This is a situation we cannot ignore – we need the advantage too badly.” The commander turned back to Teagan after Sten nodded his assent. “So what do we need to know?”

“There’s not much to tell. A few nights ago walking corpses started coming down from the castle. They only attack at night, but there’s more every night. We have a small militia – that’s led by Mayor Murdoch. We have a few knight’s who’ve returned from their search. They’re led by Ser Perth. Everyone else gathers in the Chantry at night.”

“Fine. Alistair, talk to Ser Perth. Osane, talk to the Mother here and see if there are wounded we can help. Sten come with me – we’ll talk to this Murdoch. I’ll see what he needs done, and you can give a few pointers to the men.”

It had been a long night. Andra was drenched in sweat and exhausted, leaning heavily on her shield as the sun’s rays peaked over the eastern horizon. Smoke still rose from the oil barrels that were burning on the hillside. The Chantry doors carefully swung open, Teagan’s head poking through.

“It’s alright. It’s over.” Andra assured him, her fatigue audible in her voice.

The doors swung fully open, allowing those within to soak in the sunshine. Many had faces fully of awe – never expecting to live to see morning. The Mother exited with a serene look on her face.

“Dawn arrives and all of us remain,” she intoned.

“Not quite…” Andra argued quietly. “Your barman is over there somewhere. Fool shouldn’t have charged off into the dark where we couldn’t see him. Managed to keep everyone else alive though.” She sat down heavily on the steps of the Chantry.

“Andra, you okay?” Alistair looked at her worriedly, tipping her chin back to peer into her eyes.

“Just tired,” she waved him off.

Teagan motioned to them. “Now that the town is safe, I feel comfortable leaving them to go for the castle. I assume you want to join me?”

“Obviously,” Alistair answered as Andra heaved herself back to her feet. Osane joined them and the five made their way to a secret exit.

“This is handy. Why didn’t you use it before? If you don’t mind my asking, I mean,” Osane commented to Teagan.

“As I said, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving the village alone. I also don’t know what waits in the castle. I’m a competent swordsman, but little more than that. It would do no one any good if I got myself killed in the process of trying to rescue everyone else.”

“Most castles have something like this. An escape route for the family if the worst should happen,” Andra commented, before shaking her head to free it of the memories that suddenly swarmed her vision. Alistair subtly found her hand and squeezed it once in sympathy. They were deposited in the castle’s lower dungeons.

“Stay back! Stop it! Someone help me!”

More corpses were attacking a cell, but the group made quick work of them.

“Thank the Maker! I thought I was going to- Osane? Well that figures.” The figure in the cell was slender and frail, but that seemed to be more from malnourishment and poor-treatment than his actual physique. Andra was hard-pressed to actually describe him, but she found his voice annoyingly high pitched.

“Jowan? What are you doing here?”

“You know him?” Alistair asked skeptically.

“We were in the tower together. He was the reason Isallin and I got recruited, actually.”

“Wait – I remember you talking about it. The blood mage? Well, that’s bloody brilliant. I suppose we’re taking him with us too?” Alistair snarked at Andra.

“Why would we? He’s in a dungeon for a reason, and he’s _not_ a Warden. Let him stay there. We have better things to do.” Andra walked away.

The group, along with Ser Perth and his knights, entered the audience hall. There a middle-aged woman was bent in supplication to a very young boy.

“What is this?” Asked the boy in an unnaturally deep voice. “Some petitioner, come to ask me for a boon?”

Glancing at the others, Andra stepped forward and put on her best court voice. “Aye. I am Andra, Commander of the Grey, come seeking Arl Eamon or whosoever might stand in his stead for assistance against the Blight that threatens our land. Pray, to whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

“Oh ho! This one I like! She knows how to do things…properly…doesn’t she, mother? Tell her who we are!”

The woman stood, the bags under her eyes evident as she turned to face them. “Th-this is C-C-Con-n-n-nor Guerrin, s-s-s-son of A-A-A-Arrrrl …”

“You bore me, mother.” The boy raised his hand and swept it at the air toward her. She flinched but only made a small squeak as resounding smack echoed across the room, snapping her head to one side.

“Isolde!” Both Teagan and Alistair shouted at the woman.

Andra cast her eyes to the woman, but decided that maintaining composure was the best course of action, so quickly returned them to ‘Connor’. “M’lord.” She bowed, the armor not allowing her a curtsey.

Connor frowned at her. “Why can’t I see you right? What’s wrong with you? No! You lied to me! You say you’re here to fight the Blight but you’re one of them! Get away from me!” The boy ran, darting from the room faster than any could react.

The Lady Isolde was helped to her feet by the two men. She seemed to be broken by what had happened to her son, her speech in a permanent stutter. Patiently, Alistair and Teagan teased the whole story from her. Connor had shown signs of becoming a mage, but rather than submitting to law she sought help in hiding it, seeking out a tutor. Loghain had seemingly come to the rescue by providing an apostate – Jowan to tutor Connor just enough to be able to hide his talent. Then Eamon fell ill and it was discovered to be Jowan’s doing via poison. Nothing could revive him, neither herbs nor magic would rouse him. Isolde decided that the only recourse was to find the sacred Urn of Ashes – the remains of Andraste herself – and sent out the knights of the castle to retrieve them or any information about them. Then Connor went strange, people started dying and their corpses would get up and do his bidding. An army slowly grew until it was large enough to begin attacking the village below, growing with every death. Isolde blamed Jowan for Connor’s change.

“I don’t think it is,” Osane said thoughtfully. “Jowan’s fault I mean. With the changed voice and how Connor talked about Andra and everything? It felt an awful lot like what happened at the Peak. I think maybe Connor is possessed.”

“N-n-n-no!” Isolde despaired. “N-n-n-not my b-b-b-boy!”

“If he is. There’s only one solution, isn’t there?” Alistair asked, though it was obviously not a question.

“Mmmm…” Osane interjected.

Teagan turned to the mage. “What? Is there some hope you can offer?”

“Well. He’s clearly not an abomination. Not yet. Otherwise he’d be – well, he wouldn’t look like him. I think the demon only has a hold of him in the Fade. If we were able to reach him there, take care of the demon there, it would have to release him.”

“Is that possible? How would we even do that?” Alistair asked hopefully.

“We’d need to get help from the Circle, I think.”

“Another delay?” Sten grumbled. “Tell me, is this too, needful? Saving this boy’s life? He is possessed. Kill him and be done with it.”

Andra considered, rubbing her temples to push away the fatigue that threatened to overcome her. “It doesn’t gain us anything by simply killing him. Eamon is still ill. We need the Circle anyway, and they aren’t that far away. Osane stay, see what you can do for,” Andra motioned to Isolde, “the survivors. Sten, you’re staying too. If Connor makes a move; threatens Eamon or anyone else’s life, comes downstairs, starts trying to possess other people, takes other forms, or anything else threatening before we get back, you have my permission to end him. Come on Alistair. Apparently there’s no rest for us today.”


	23. Campfire Tales: Osane Amell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kind of chapter is going to be short, but hopefully a fun little insight into the various Warden's backgrounds pre-Duncan interference.

Osane barely remembered her parents. Revka and Damion Amell were names in a file under her name in the First Enchanter’s office and little more. Likewise, she knew that she had siblings, but nothing beyond that – not even names. As far as Osane was aware, she was the youngest child of the Amell clan – lucky number thirteen, and by the time she was born the Templar’s simply had a standing order to come collect Revka’s children when they turned six. She wasn’t sure what the Chantry would have done (did?) if her parents tried again for a non-mage child – as far as she was aware there weren’t any Circles left without doubling up an Amell somewhere.

Her training very quickly took an odd turn however, when her tutors realized that she couldn’t cast primal or entropy magic at all and only certain forms of creation and spirit magic. It wasn’t that she was bad at it – it simply didn’t work. On the other hand, protective spells, healing spells, and the occasional other odd assisting spell she seemed to be able to cast far, far, better and more powerfully than her classmates. Because of this, her tutoring came directly under First Enchanter Irving himself. It left Osane a lot of time to herself. While other students might have taken the opportunity to get into all forms of trouble, Osane was meek enough that she simply did her work then retired to the library to find projects of her own or to the infirmary to care for students who had hurt themselves in their studies.

It was primarily because of this complete lack of ability to defend herself that the First Enchanter held off Osane’s Harrowing for as long as he could. Irving feared for his pupil’s life, not that she would fall prey to the temptations of a demon for he had taught her well, but that she would be unable to react upon gaining the demon’s ire. It was Knight-Commander Greagoir who pushed the issue until the First Enchanter could no longer avoid it.


	24. Gathering An Army: The Circle (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andra, Alistair, and Morrigan

Andra found herself thankful that the trip to the Circle was only two days away from Redcliffe. In those first few hours after leaving the small village, the Warden-Commander found herself practically sleep-walking along the cobble-stone road. She knew, in the small part of her brain that was still working, that Alistair wasn’t doing much better.

“We need to stop,” she mumbled. “We’re dead on our feet. At this rate an ogre could sneak up on us and we’d never notice.” Alistair yawned his agreement and looked for a suitable place to make camp. A few short minutes later the two Wardens had their backs to trees and were snoring softly.

When Andra next woke, it was to the delicious smell of cooking sausage and warm bread. She stretched luxuriously before her eyes snapped open, remembering their previous circumstances. “What-?”

“Oh! You’re awake, miss! Excellent. Are you, by chance, hungry? We were just setting down to our supper. You are welcome to join us of course.” The voice was familiar, and after a moment Andra put it with Bodahn, the dwarven merchant.

“Starving. That smells fantastic, Bodahn, thank you. Is Alistair around?” She asked, looking around.

“The young man you were travelling with? Oh yes. He woke up just before you did. He’s just off, uh, relieving himself.”

“Oh. Of course.” Andra said as she worked out the kinks in her back, stretching broadly.

“Andra, you’re awake!”

“If the darkspawn couldn’t kill me I don’t think a few hours of sleep will, Alistair,” she teased.

“Any dreams?”

“Too tired to dream. If we push we should reach the docks by nightfall, right?”

“Yeah. We even have time for breakfast first!” The huge grin on Alistair’s face made Andra laugh.

Morrigan met them inside the rather dark ‘Spoiled Princess Inn’ that was just outside the docks.

“I hadn’t even sent a message yet, and here you are,” Morrigan greeted the two acidly.

“It’s so lovely to see you again too,” Alistair replied.

Andra shook her head, hiding a smirk. “Circumstances in Redcliffe demanded that this was our next immediate destination. Why, what’s the situation here?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but they have removed the usual boatman and replaced him with a Templar – denying all access to the tower itself. I’ve gathered that some sort of calamity has occurred, but they refuse to share details. Unsurprising, really.”

“Lovely. Well lets go see what there is to see,” Andra sighed. The docks were guarded by a Templar, as Morrigan had said, and a rather dull witted one at that. “Look, buddy. If you want to be a queen you’re welcome to it, but do it on your own time. I can even offer you some make-up tips – but for now, we really need to get into the Tower and talk to this Greagoir of yours. Unless you want to be the one to tell him that the Blight has overrun Ferelden because you’d rather play dress-up?”

“What? No! I didn’t mean-! Oh, alright. Get in the boat,” the Templar acquiesced.

A short ride later brought them into the main hall. They were greeted with a scream that was suddenly cut off. “Close off the damn doors! Don’t let any more of the through! Hold your ground men!” An older man in Templar armor turned to them. “Who are you? I told…oh, by the Maker!” he cursed as he caught sight of Andra’s armor, proudly displaying the Grey Warden griffons.

“Greagoir, I presume? I’ve come to ask for your help, but it looks like you’re barely holding your own here. What’s going on?” Andra asked, bowing slightly.

“Chantry business, Wardens. None of your concern. Get out.” Came the terse reply from the Knight-Commander.

Andra leaned insolently against the door-frame, steel in her voice. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ser. I have a treaty that compels the Circle to lend me aid in the time of a Blight. We have a Blight and I need aid. I’m willing to give and take if it will get me what I need, but I’m not going anywhere without the support I came for, one way or another.”

“Ugh. You want to know what’s going on? The Circle has gone mad. We’ve sent word to Denerim for the Rite of Annulment. As soon as we hear back, your precious Circle will be gone. There’s no aid for you or your damnable Blight here.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed, “The Rite? Why?”

“Blood mages. They’ve taken over, summoning demons and undead. It’s too much to hope that any might still be alive after this long. The only solution is the Rite.” Greagoir sounded tired.

“You’ve been waiting a while for the answer then,” Andra said. It wasn’t a question. “But with everything in disarray, no one is listening. What would it take for you to believe that the Circle is safe?”

“At this point? I’d have to hear it from First Enchanter Irving’s own mouth.”

Andra nodded, glancing at Alistair and Morrigan for confirmation as she spoke, “Fine. We’ll go in. You lock the doors behind us. Either we come back with the First Enchanter and any other survivors we find or we come back alone.”

“You’re mad. Do you have any idea what you’re facing in there?” Greagoir asked, eyes wide.

“No,” Andra answered simply, “But it can’t be worse than facing the archdemon.”

A few more preparations and the doors slammed shut behind them. “So what _are_ we facing?”

Morrigan shook her head as she spoke. “Blood mages, undead, and demons he said. Blood mages are just humans or elves using magic. They’re little different than any other mage you’ve dealt with. The undead will be walking corpses and skeletons – nothing much to fear there as opponents go. Demons are another matter. There are a few basic types; rage – made of fire and hatred, sloth – masters of disguise who use your dreams against you, desire – masters of manipulation who sense your innermost wishes, and pride – extremely intelligent and the most dangerous of them all.”

“Right. Lets go.”

They encountered no resistance in the first few rooms, which seemed to be the apprentice quarters, leading to snarky remarks from Morrigan about mages being packed in like cattle, before they reached a larger open area where several children were waiting quietly, watched over by a couple of older students and one elderly woman.

“Come no further! Who are you and why are you here? State your intention!” She demanded of them.

Andra stepped forward one pace. “My name is Andra Cousland. I’m the Commander of the Grey. I’ve come to determine the fate of the Circle.”

“Greagoir sent you.”

“Yes.”

“He has the Rite of Annulment then?”

“Not yet. As I said, the fate of the Circle is mine to determine. Who are you?”

“Yours? Then…your mind is not set? You are not determined to destroy us? There is still hope after all. I am Wynne, a senior enchanter here in the Circle. I have been protecting these students,” Wynne lowered her arm and the small group approached.

“Not yet. I need the Circle in our fight against the Blight if there’s enough of you left. If not…” Andra shook her head, refusing to face that possibility just yet. “But Greagoir will only accept that the Circle is safe if he hears it from your First Enchanter. He knows nothing of what happened, however. Can you tell me any more?”

“Certainly. We were in a meeting on the top floor, Uldred was yelling his usual nonsense about separating from the Chantry and then he did something. It was blood magic. I had left the room – I always get a headache when he starts in, so I wasn’t there, but I felt it happen. It had his…flavor to it. I ran to protect the children as best I could. That’s where Irving will be. Uldred too.”

“Then that’s where we need to go,” Alistair said helpfully.

“Not without me you aren’t. There are passes and seals you won’t be able to get by unless you’re a Templar of the Circle or a Circle Mage.”

“Fine. Come on. I’ve got places to be,” Andra said, grumpy at the prospect of pulling another all-nighter.

The group slowly worked their way through the levels, finding only blood mages and death – no survivors, much to Wynne’s dismay. As they came to the fourth floor a demon waited for them; several bodies surrounded him.

“Oh my,” the abomination drawled, “What have we here? Aren’t you _tired_ of all this fighting? Why do you _lay down_ your burdens?”

“A sloth demon! Fight!” Wynne urged. “Resist. You must resist, else we are all lost."

“This is ridiculous. You cannot expect me to rest on a floor sticky with blood,” Morrigan struggled. “No, demon! I will not…submit…to…you…”

Alistair wobbled. “Can't... keep eyes open. Someone... pinch... me.”

“You will come to regret this, demon,” Andra smirked. “You’ve no idea what you’re messing with.”

The world went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everyone else is off playing Inquisition, but I have to wait for the holiday season to be over before I get to play :( Have fun you guys!


	25. Dream

His lips are every bit as soft as the last time she’d kissed him, and she gratefully curls her arms around his neck, fingers twining in his pony-tail, as his hands trail lightly down her back. Wistfully he breaks the kiss.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I just can’t decide. I want to see you, but I also want…” he shrugs, unable to finish his thought verbally.

“To finish our conversation?” she teases gently. “We have all the time in the world now.”

“True.” He captures her lips again, beard and mustache tickling at her cheeks as his hands deftly begin to remove her clothing. His lips turn as he nibbles his way down her neck and she stretches to allow him the most access, shuddering under his touch.

“Duncan…” she breathes, her own fingers fumbling with his armor.

He backs her into a wall, making her gasp before stepping away. He makes short work of his own clothing, revealing naturally tan skin, a fuzzy but well chiseled chest and abdomen and extremely well muscled legs, all crossed again and again with scars of a life hard won. She can see the outline of his desire through his smalls, thick and wanting. Her own clothes he rips from her body with no ceremony at all – instantly ruined and leaving her breathless.

“I’ll be seeing that birthmark now.” Duncan rumbles, his voice thick with lust.

He pins her to the wall again and covers her lips with his own, grinding his hips into hers and dragging a moan from her throat. Somehow his hands are everywhere – cupping her breasts, skimming her waist, on her lower back pulling her further into him – and she can only echo him, running her own hands over his chest and stomach and up over his shoulders, desperate for more. He lifts her slightly, and her weight is supported between the wall and his hips.   She wraps her legs around him, locking her ankles behind him.

“It’s on my hip,” she whispers heatedly.

In two long strides she’s thrown unceremoniously on a bed, her smalls being removed by his calloused hands. He’s slower this time – almost reverent. They lock eyes for a moment, her breath catching as she is revealed to him.

“Oh Maker,” Duncan breathes. He kisses his way up to her, starting at her ankles and moving up her calves to her knees, then thighs, and finally to her hips. He studies the birthmark for several agonizing moments. “It really does match your eyes,” he finally says, before bending to kiss it as well.

As his lips graze the silver mark an angry roar cuts through the air, lasting several seconds. A moment later _he_ is standing there. “What. Is. _This?_ ” he hisses angrily.

“Who…?” she asks stunned, clawing for anything to cover her body.

Duncan spins on the intruder, sword materializing in his hand. “ **You** are not welcome here. Be gone.”

“She does not belong to you, demon. She is **mine** and mine alone. Release her.”

Duncan smirks. “She is under my power now. See how far that gets you.”

“Do not test me.”

“Demon?” she squeaks, looking between the two men. The intruder gazes at her, and his eyes are like prisms. She remembers. Between the two there is no question and, taking the sheet with her to cover herself, she runs to Urthemiel’s side. He wraps his arm around her possessively and raises an eyebrow at demon-Duncan.

“No! You cannot have her!” the demon growls, advancing.

Urthemiel doesn’t even bother with a verbal reply. He simply grips her tighter, throws his head back and roars. It splits the sky in twain, and the demon falls without a sound

The world crumbles and fades to white, leaving them alone.

_What were you doing? You belong to me._

I know.

_Clearly your heart doesn’t, or the demon wouldn’t have used that particular imagery for you. Perhaps I should remind you?_

He locks her hands behind her back and kisses her deeply, one hand holding her wrists while the other tenderly traces her cheek and she is lost. A foreign voice, male, but somehow familiar invades the kiss.

“Andra?”

_Ignore it. You are Mine._

“Andra come back.”

The voice is like a beacon, guiding her back to reality, and she cannot ignore it.


	26. Gathering An Army: The Circle (Part Two)

“Andra?” Alistair whispered, smoothing a lock of hair from the prone woman’s face. “Andra come back. Come back to me.”

Andra’s eyes fluttered open and she gasped, clinging frantically to Alistair’s forearms. “What? Where?”

“Shhh. It’s okay. You’re safe.” Alistair peered into her eyes. “Come back, Andra. Come on,” he urged.

She couldn’t seem to get a grasp on reality, her mind flicking between Alistair and the Circle and Urthemiel and his impossibly deep kisses and hot touches. “I can’t-” she shook her head, clinging to him desperately. “I have to- I belong-”

The other warden frowned. Thus far she had always quickly blinked away the feral and disturbing dragon-like eyes that accompanied such fits before. This time, however she seemed to be having trouble fighting it. _I belong to him_ , she had said. “You don’t belong to anyone, Andra. Shake it off. Come on!” He slapped her face lightly, and that seemed to do the trick. The next time she blinked, her eyes were clear and golden.

“Alistair?”

“Thank the Maker. You with us?”

“I- Yeah. What happened?” Andra asked, noting the crumpled form of the abomination nearby.

“Not sure. I was having this pleasant dream about – well, it doesn’t matter. Anyway this huge ear-drum splitting roar came through and broke the dream apart. It woke me up. Morrigan and Wynne said the same thing happened to them. The demon fell over about the same time. The only one who didn’t wake up was you. I sent them over there.” He pointed to the other side of the room where the two women were arguing animatedly. “Didn’t need them to see you when you woke up. What happened?”

“I was dreaming, same as you. Then…then he came. He got all jealous. Of a dream! He destroyed everything. Said he needed to remind me of my place. He was about to, but somehow I heard your voice. I heard you calling me back.” She shrugged and sat up gingerly.

“You came back, because of me? Wow.” Alistair got a wicked little grin on his face. “I don’t suppose _I_ was what you were dreaming about?”

Andra smacked his arm playfully as she hauled herself to her feet, pulling Alistair after her. “You wish. Come on, we’re almost there.” She raised her voice. “Morrigan, Wynne, I’m back. Let’s go.”

A few rooms later brought them to the stairwell that led to the Harrowing chamber where the meeting had taken place. It also brought them to a huge shining wall – behind which was a single man dressed in Templar armor.

“Maker no! I will not submit to you, demons! No matter how many times or how many ways you show me salvation I will not take it! Begone!” He closed his eyes and began to pray.

“One of the younger Templar’s of the Circle. Cullen, I think his name is,” Wynne provided.

“He looks awful. What have they done to him?” Alistair asked, frowning.

Andra approached, kneeling to get to eye level with the man. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

The man’s eyes snapped open. “Still here? But it’s always worked before! Can you be real?”

“Yes, we’re real,” Andra assured him. “Cullen, is it? It’s okay. We’ll find a way to get you out of there.” She turned to Wynne and Morrigan, but the Templar stopped her.

“Don’t bother. It will fall when the mages who cast it are dead. They’re upstairs. Maker, the noises coming from up there. Uldred is **doing something** to them. He tortured us. The others turned. Only I am left.”

“Is Irving still up there?”

“He was when I left. I doubt he is now, even if something is wearing his skin. The blood-mages have been in his head for too long. You have to kill them all. You have to be sure!”

Andra’s eyes grew icy. “You may be right, but I won’t kill anyone at _your_ say so, ser. If you’ll recall back a whole two seconds ago you admitted that the blood-mages were in _your_ head. Shall I kill you as well – just to be sure?”

Cullen’s mouth dropped as the Warden turned her back on him and climbed the final set of stairs.

“Do you accept the gift I offer?” Uldred asked the mage he’d just finished electrocuting, though it was obvious he only expected one answer. Weakly the mage nodded. “Excellent.” Something shifted and an abomination tore through the man’s flesh twisting his features to something taller, bloodier, and far less symmetrical. “Visitors? My, my.”

Wynne spoke up first. “We are here to stop you, Uldred. Nothing more.”

“Stop me? We mages have only tasted the beginning of what our powers can do. There is so much more we could accomplish.”

“The mage has accomplished nothing. You are a demon hiding within him. Show yourself for what you are,” Morrigan scoffed.

Uldred ignored the apostate, focusing on Andra. “And you. You could be so much more. Would you accept the gift I offer?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, though Alistair noted the bitterness in her voice. “You’d try to make a claim on me? I think you’ll find that difficult. Not to mention the part where we killed all your little minions on our way up.”

“Yes. Well, no doubt they would have found the burden of true freedom more than they could bear. You did them a favor. As for you…” Uldred leaned forward to gaze at her closely. “There is power in your blood. If you will not give it willingly, then I shall have to take it from you.”

With no more preamble, his form shifted and grew, some kind of clear liquid bursting from his body and coating the floor, making the footing uncertain. Andra and Alistair drew their weapons, advancing on Uldred together while Wynne began casting. Morrigan shifted her form to one of a huge bear, choosing to take on Uldred’s minions. The pride demon within Uldred continued to grow and shift, horns sprouting from its head, its maw stretching far too wide for its face. The two wardens moved to flank the demon, who seemed to ignore them.

“He’s doing something to the mages!” Wynne called out in warning. Only then did Andra notice three groupings of mages tied and seated at the edges of the chamber. One such group was surrounded by a sickly red glow, but there was little to do about it beyond what she was already doing – trying to take the demon out as quickly as possible.

The fight went on for what seemed like hours, every time they seemed to get Uldred down he’d attack a mage group. Inevitably some would turn, becoming more opponents for them to fight, and some would die, healing Uldred in the process.  Eventually the only mage left was an old man. For the other side, Wynne seemed to have an equal amount of offensive and defensive spells, and it was only due to her magic that they managed to stay in the fight as long as they did. Andra wiped a smear of blood from her eyes as she and Uldred circled each other once again. He stepped forward with a growl, punching her in the chest as Alistair darted in from behind, neatly slicing the demon’s femoral artery. Uldred stumbled and fell forward, lending further weight to the punch.

“I will destroy this circle, if it is the last thing I do!” the demon rumbled. With a flick of his hand the old man twitched, the sickly red aura surrounding him.

“Irving!” Wynne called, rushing to the old man’s side, as the man’s head fell silently to his chest, eyes closed. “No!”

The demon’s body evaporated into the Fade, revealing Andra under him, struggled for air. Alistair rushed forward, cutting the bindings of her crumpled chest plate free.

“Thank-” Andra coughed and rolled onto all fours. “Thank you. Did-” Another round of coughing as Andra gasped for breath, “Did we finish it in time?”

Alistair glanced to Wynne who shook her head sadly. “No. We’ll have no magic support but our own mages.”

Andra closed her eyes in disappointment. “Then we can’t help Connor, either.” She sighed. “Let’s collect the Templar from downstairs, Wynne’s apprentices, and tell Greagoir.”

“So that’s what happened. Your Circle now consists of about 8 people, only one of whom has passed the Harrowing, plus whoever wasn’t in the Tower at the time. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep an eye on things. I don’t suppose I can count on the Templars for support against the Blight?” Andra wasn’t really expecting any kind of positive answer from Greagoir.

“Yes, you can. You – the Grey Wardens – were there, when no one else was. If Uldred had been able to see his plan through, we wouldn’t have stood a chance against him. The evil he could have unleashed on the country, I hate to even think of it. The Wardens deserve our support for that alone. There are mages out there who need our guidance, however, and the Circle needs righting. Wynne, you are the obvious choice. Will you take the role of First Enchanter of our Circle?”

Wynne smiled kindly. “Obvious only because I’m the only senior enchanter still alive, you mean. But really, Greagoir, I’d rather travel with Wardens if you’ll allow it. And of course, if they will.”

“Oh, very well.”

“You’re welcome to join us Wynne, as long as you understand that Wardens will do anything to stop the Blight.” Wynne nodded her assent. “Also, you don’t happen to know how to free someone who’s not yet an abomination but definitely within the clutches of a demon do you?”

“You mean the demon is still within the Fade? It is possible to save such a person, but difficult. It takes a good deal of lyrium, several mages, and knowledge of the specific ritual.”

Andra glanced at Alistair. “Do you know the ritual, do you have the lyrium, and how many mages?”

Wynne quirked an eyebrow. “I know the ritual. The lyrium can be found here in the Tower. The ritual needs five mages; four for the ritual, and one to enter the Fade itself to confront the demon. I assume we’re talking about someone specific here?”

“Yes. And that someone will need an escort back to the Circle when it’s all said and done. Or to bring word to Greagoir that it’s no longer an issue, if things don’t turn out well. Can’t be breaking trust,” Andra smiled at the Knight-Commander. “If we count you, we’ve got four, though not immediately. Not sure where to find the fifth one just yet, but I’m sure we will.”

Greagoir frowned. “Who is this ‘someone’ who speak of? And who are your four?”

“These two,” Andra motioned to Wynne and Morrigan, “and two Wardens. One is there, the other is off on a job for me. They both came from this Circle so maybe you know them? Osane and Isallin.” Both Cullen and Greagoir recoiled visibly at the names, though for clearly different reasons. Cullen looked like he’d been slapped. Greagoir simply looked ill. Andra went on, ignoring them. “And the who is Connor Guerrin, Arl Eamon’s son, in Redcliffe.”

Greagoir nodded. “He’s about the right age to be showing signs. Cullen, go to Redcliffe to keep an eye – a _Templar_ eye on Connor until a fifth mage can be summoned. Wynne, give Cullen the lyrium needed for the ritual. He’ll safe-guard it until you’re ready.”

“Actually, Wynne and Morrigan can just go with him. Alistair and I need to get my breast-plate fixed, check in for news with the others and go get Isallin. It’s better if we don’t all travel in a big group. You can send one of your boys with Alistair and I so you’ll know where to send any troops you can spare for army training. Morrigan, when you get there send Sten back to the Peak. I have work for him.”


	27. To Be A Warden: Alone Together

She looked different, Alistair decided, without her armor on. It wasn’t that anything had actually changed about her of course, but the armor did something to her. It gave her personality an armor as well, and now that she wasn’t wearing it, that shell had come off as well and he felt as though he was seeing Andra for the first time. She smiled more – actually laughing at his jokes. She walked with a greater ease in her step that lent a nice sway to her hips (which he could also see better without the armor). And when she thought he wasn’t looking, late at night, she’d stare into the fire, getting lost in her thoughts as the flames licking over the wood mesmerized her and her eyes would become sad and lost. Once he caught a tear rolling down her cheek, though it was hastily brushed away. He wondered, in those moments, what she was thinking about but never gathered the nerve to ask, instead breaking the moment with silly jokes about cheese and lost pants to cheer her and wipe the sorrow from her face. At night he more and more often found his nameless faceless fantasies having her name, her face as he cupped himself, quietly gasping as he spent himself inside his tent before drifting into restless sleep. This. This was what Duncan had seen. This was what Duncan had loved. And now he understood because- No. Better not to go down that path.

Andra could feel his eyes on her, but thought little of it. At least at first. It began slowly, but she began to notice a certain heat in his eyes when he looked at her, an echoing grin when she laughed at his inherent silliness. She began to feel truly comfortable in his presence, relaxing for the first time since Ostagar. It was that mental relaxation that did her in, she realized. She found herself staring into the campfire and thinking of another – one far more ferocious. One that took precious lives. And another, far more dangerous fire that burned within the heart of one Rendon Howe. She could only pray that he would still be alive by the time she got to him. She had plans for him, and they didn’t involve him being dead. Not yet, anyway. He would be begging for death by the time she was done with him. It was the same promise she made herself every night, but something about Alistair’s gaze on her as she silently made her vow made her remember more than she wanted. It made her remember her parent’s faces as she left on Duncan’s arm. It made her remember their eyes, knowing they were saying goodbye for the last time. Her dreams remained nightmares, though thankfully, thus far silent ones, and none of them of _him_.

And then it happened.

She woke in the middle of the third shift – the shift of their Templar companion.

Screaming.

“Andra?!” Alistair burst into her tent, chest bare, sword drawn eyes darting around for the source of her distress. He was quickly followed by the Templar.

“Auuuunononononopleasenonotagain!” Andra was still asleep, curled into a ball and sobbing.

Alistair dropped his sword and to his knees, instantly at her side. “Andra? Andra, its okay. Andra?” She flinched at his touch and he frowned. Careful, but firmly he pulled her head, prying one eye open between thumb and index finger. It was a golden prism, the pupil like a cat slit. He waved the Templar away with a mutter about ‘Warden business’.

“Andra? Come on. Come back. You have to fight him! We reach the tunnels that lead to the Peak today. Aldous may have something for you. Come on.” There was no response but her quiet sobs. Alistair pulled her into his lap, rocking her and crooning soft platitudes while stroking her soft brown hair. Slowly she quieted, but did not wake. When morning came, Alistair dressed then created a makeshift pack to carry Andra, burdening the Templar with everything else and led him silently to Soldier’s Peak.


	28. To Be A Warden: Revelations

Levi Dryden smiled as Alistair’s form appeared in the entrance to the Peak, but it dropped as he saw Andra being carried on his back. The merchant rushed forward.

“Oh my goodness! What can I do to help?”

Alistair grunted. “I’m taking her to her quarters. Send someone to get Avernus. Have someone else settle this guy into the barracks if they’re clean. If not, find him a tent.” Levi nodded and scurried off to do exactly that.

Nearly an hour later, Avernus finally put in an appearance at the Warden-Commander’s doorway. “Ah. Back, are you? Good. Saves me the trouble of writing a letter. I-“

“Not now, Avernus!” Alistair cut the mage off impatiently. “Last night she had a nightmare – screaming in her sleep. And she won’t wake up. Her eyes are all weird again. _He_ has her.” He looked up worriedly from his position by Andra’s bed where he had knelt.

“Oh dear. This has progressed rather faster than I expected it to. Bother.”

“What has?”

Avernus let out a long suffering sigh. “As I was about to tell you before you interrupted me, I’ve done some of the research you two asked pertaining to her…situation. It is not good news.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “Well?”

“Her mother, Eleanor. I’ve traced her ancestry to a rather nasty little ritual that involved the blood of a high dragon. Apparently they were attempting to gain the power of flight. Foolish. Regardless, it probably wouldn’t mean much, as it hasn’t to dozens of her ancestors, except that she happened to be born during a mage storm, on a very particular night. You see, Wintersend used to be called something else, when the Tevinter Empire ruled everything. It was called Urthalis – dedicated to Urthemiel, the Old God of Beauty. I suspect that the mage storm woke something within her blood and that was activated when she Joined the Wardens.”

“Maker,” Alistair breathed. “What can we do?”

“Do? Nothing, I suspect. It would take someone of the Therin bloodline to even try something, and then victory is hardly certain. It would be playing with fire.” He snorted. “Probably literally.”

Alistair’s eye’s narrowed thoughtfully. “The Therin bloodline? Why? What do you mean?”

“Well,” the old man offered. “There is a tale of the Therin’s having dragon blood in their vein’s as well. If there was a man of the royal line willing to fight for her, he might be able to actually take Urthemiel on to fight for her love. Romantic.” The old man rolled his eyes. “But from what I hear, they’re all dead now, assuming the story is even true.”

“Is there a way to tell?”

“If they’re all dead? No.”

“No! If your blood is all, you know, dragon-y.”

“Are you claiming to be of royal blood?” Avernus asked incredulously.

“Yes, actually. And I’d really rather have Andra here. With us. Than with him. Them. The darkspawn. I mean Evil Queen of the Universe sounds like a great title and all, but I bet it comes with a really bad wardrobe.”

“You do understand what love means, don’t you boy?”

“What? Of course I do! Maybe.”

“Ugh. First of all, no, there is no way to tell if your blood is ‘dragon-y’ as you put it. Secondly, I will not be the one to explain how the world works to you. As for her…” Avernus paused to look at the woman in question. “We just have to wait, and hope she comes out of it on her own. His courting may be done in the Fade, but yours must be done here, in the real world.”

“Courting…? So I have to…um…you know…”

Avernus looked pained. “Make her fall in love with you? Have her give you her heart, body and soul? Make her yours? Yes. Please don’t bore me with the details, I do have other work to attend to.” With that statement Avernus swept out of the chamber as quickly as he had come, leaving Alistair to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for leaving you hanging at the end of the last chapter, Beloved Readers! I got a nasty stomach bug AND my laptop died a tragic death. I'm afraid until it gets fixed updates will be sporadic at best. :( Sorry! Anyway the next chapter is a Dream chapter, so.....yeah ^_^


	29. Dream

When the mists clear, she is aware and she knows it isn’t a normal dream. It is dark, she is unbound and seems to be clothed for once, but alone. Hesitantly she calls out.

Are you there?

_Of course._

The darkness presses in and she is no more aware of his presence than before despite having heard him.

What do you want?

_You. Always you._

I don’t-

_I cleared the path. You said you were Mine. I Took you. But your heart continued to belong to another. You Belong to me, I can feel it, yet you somehow don’t. I do not understand._

She can feel herself frowning in disapproval.

You killed – murdered – someone I cared deeply about. You took me by force. That sort of thing leaves scars. I don’t belong to anyone.

_I removed an obstacle to obtaining my desire, love. I will continue to do so, even if it is yourself._

With a sudden surge he is there next to her, and there is light. They are in a Chantry, though it is one unlike she has ever seen before, a mad mockery of everything she knows. Where a Mother should be reading the Chant there is a man, and the words he intones are unknown, but somehow ancient and perverse. Where there should be red and orange and gold there is black and grey and silver. Where there should be light there is dark. Where there should be Andraste there is Urthemiel. His voice resonates around the hall like a gong, filling her with its richness.

_Will you bow to me?_

I cannot.

Instantly an unseen force pushes her to her knees, falling prostrate before him and she cannot move from the position.

_This could be so much more pleasant. I will make you love me as much as I love you._

You don’t love me. You can’t make someone love you.

 _You said it yourself. Love: a want-need-desire of a person-lover._ _I love you and I am a God._

She can taste his anger – burning ashes in her mouth. The ‘Father’ stumbles over his false Chant. She wonders idly if he is another dreamer, and what he must think of all this. He forces her to look at him and his beauty is stunning.

_Do you not want me?_

Yes.

She cannot pretend here. Not where her innermost self is most revealed. His smile is dazzling and she feels her heart skip a beat as he leans closer, tenderly tracing the frame of her face with his index finger.

_Do you not need me?_

Yes.

His finger follows the curve of her neck to her shoulders and sides, and acts as a knife, cutting fabric wherever it trails. Her shirt falls to ribbons leaving her breasts exposed. The Father stares openly at the display, never stopping his chanting.

_Do you not desire me?_

Yes.

There is no point denying the rapid breathing, or the heat coiling between her thighs, even to herself, even if she could. His finger drops lower yet, tracing the outer hems of her breeches, and peeling them away from her body in one smooth move. It leaves her naked and on her knees in front of him. The cool air of the perverted Chantry kisses her inner lips, and he licks his own at the view.

_Do you not love me?_

No.

His fury is as brutal as his touch was tender. In a moment he is behind her and her flesh is searing in agony as it splits open from where he strikes her back. Before she can even bleed, she is healed again, however and only a startled cry denotes that it ever happened. His lips and tongue find her neck, soft and teasing. Her body doesn’t know how to respond to this, tensing and relaxing at the same time. She whimpers in the back of her throat.

_You want me._

It is not a question this time, and not worth answering. He brings his hands up to cup her breasts, almost as if showing them off to the Father before squeezing lightly. Without warning his anger returns, and he takes a nipple in each hand, pinching and twisting hard until she screams. As soon as she does he relaxes his grip completely and steps in front of her, gently taking first one, then the other into his mouth and sucking the pain away into pleasure. He kisses his way to her mouth with soft licks and nibbles as he stands. His tongue invades her mouth and she welcomes it, lost in his unique flavor and the way he is making her feel. A quiet moan escapes her.

_You need me._

It is foolish, for suddenly his lips are gone and he stands before her, naked. She has seen men naked before, but never up close and never aroused. Urthemiel is very much of both, locking her head in place with his hands and replacing his tongue with himself before she can think. It is too much, too big, too strange, too foreign, and she is gagging for air, eyes streaming. With every gag he thrusts further and harder into her throat. His pelvis crushes her nose, his balls slap her chin, and it doesn’t take long for him to finish. She never tastes him, but there is an odd flavor in the back of her throat that threatens to become bile if she thinks about it for more than a moment. He withdraws and kisses her, closemouthed, until her gagging stops. Then his kisses return to their soft openness, and she is spellbound by his lips and tongue one more. His hands drop slowly over her well toned stomach to her sex, dipping a finger between her lips and finding the area wet. He slides two fingers over her nub, using the experience gained from before to quickly bring her to the edge but not past it, laughing darkly in her ear as he steps behind her once more and kneels to be on the level with her. She cries out when he stops.

_You desire me._

She would throw her head back, but cannot and is forced to see the Father, still chanting, openly palming himself as Urthemiel has his way with her. Urthemiel wraps one arm around her waist and parts her, pressing his new hardness against her back. His other hand reaches between her legs and he slips his index and middle finger inside of her but doesn’t move them. His thumb finds its own purchase and she squeaks in surprise, a small amount of pain, and a great deal of embarrassment. Now he moves his hand, his fingers, the other hand finding that sensitive nub once more and bringing it to life. She would squirm or fight if she could, but she is locked in place and all she can do is feel. Pleasure overrides pain and she once again teeters on that precipice. Once again he completely withdraws his touch. She sobs.

Please.

_Do you love me?_

No. Please. I need-

_So do I. Love me and I will give you what you seek._

I can’t!

_Then neither can I._

She feels him leave her side. A dark mist fills the area, obscuring everything.

When the mists clear, she is aware and she knows it isn’t a normal dream. It is dark, she is unbound and seems to be clothed for once, but alone. Hesitantly she calls out…


	30. Campfire Tales: Andra Cousland

Eleanor and Bryce Cousland were gifted with a son early in their marriage – Fergus. He was a good boy, following in his father’s footsteps as a warrior of Ferelden. Eleanor, however, dreamed of a house full of children and laughter. It was not to be, and she found herself saddened by a lack of more children. After several years the two gave up hope, but never their love. It was a delightful surprise then, when Eleanor greeted her husband one evening with a sly smile and a hand on her belly.

It was an unexpectedly easy pregnancy, given the problems encountered with her pregnancies after Fergus, and after the usual nine months the Cousland family was blessed with a little girl in the early morning hours of the first day of Guardian. A huge storm of ice, hail, and lightening raged outside, but inside the household was occupied by the cries of a new tiny voice. Bryce and Eleanor thought to name her ‘Dublaiddyn’, an old family name from before Ferelden was unified. The nurse presented the girl to her parents; a peach fuzz of the family’s usual brown hair graced her head, and her nose was clearly Cousland. Then she opened her eyes – strange golden eyes. The nurse also revealed a birthmark not unlike a five-clawed rake on the child’s left hip, pale and silvery. Desperate to keep her as normal as possible, the two parents decided to change her name to Andra after the blessed Andraste.

As she grew, she was, in fact a perfectly normal little girl, and utterly adored her older brother, following him everywhere causing one guardsman to comment, “It’s so cute. She follows him around like a little lost puppy.” Fergus loved it. Once Bryce heard the name, and the embarrassed guard explained it, his laughter echoed throughout the castle. The name stuck and Andra became Pup.

Both children were brought up as good Ferelden children – to revere the Maker and believe in the Chant, loyalty to family, king and country, and that doing your duty to those three things was the most important thing in this world. Andra was brought up first and foremost as a diplomat – the skills necessary to sway others to a certain viewpoint, or smooth negotiations or ruffled feathers. All children in Ferelden, even diplomats, are taught to defend themselves. She was only moderately skilled with a short blade and atrocious with a bow. She was, however, quite decent with a sword and shield, and excelled at drawing the attention of those around her – naturally gaining their loyalty and dedication.

Everything was fine, and Andra’s life was ‘on schedule’ though she’d found no one who so much as peaked her interest in the romance department, much to her mother’s dismay. Then the darkspawn emerged from the Korcari Wilds and everything changed.


	31. Gathering An Army: Interim

Andra awoke. She wasn’t certain where she was, the room unfamiliar and dark. She did know that she was hungry – both for food and for something far more primal – something that Urthemiel had awoken in her but not finished. She had resisted him to the end, and in a fury he had flung her free of the dream, presumably to seek out sustenance. As the world slowly slid into focus, she realized she was in her room at the Peak, and padded to the door. It swung open just she touched the handle and she shrieked.

“Wha?! Oh! You startled me! Good! I mean it’s good. That you’re awake.” Alistair shook his head and started over. “Hi! I’m glad you’re awake. Didn’t mean to frighten you. How are you feeling?”

Andra stared at him. He was dressed simply, without any armor on, just a shirt and breeches, not even any socks or shoes, and it made her very aware of the broadness of his chest, the muscles in his arms. She knew that it was mostly the after effects of the dream, but she couldn’t help staring at his full lips that seemed to constantly be ready to break into a smile at any moment.

“I…don’t know,” she replied honestly.

Alistair’s brows knotted in concern. “What do you mean? What happened? Come sit down. I know you were dreaming – you’ve been asleep a long time.”

“Sorry,” she muttered as she allowed herself to be led back to bed. “He’s very upset. Jealous even.” She shook her head. “He thinks he loves me, but I’m not sure he does. Not in the way that you or I would mean it, anyway. He wants me to love him back.”

“I bet.” Alistair’s tone was dark, and made Andra look at him, confused. He motioned for her to continue.

“That’s what he was trying to do. Make me love him.”

“Make you….how?”

Andra blushed furiously and was thankful it was dark. “He…he played with me. I couldn’t stop him. He made me need him, but then he’d stop right as…right when…um. You know. He told me he wouldn’t finish unless I admitted that I loved him.”

Alistair thought for a moment. “Right when…oh. Oh.” His eyes grew wide. “That’s just…Oh. So why wouldn’t you just say it to make him go away?”

“I couldn’t. I can’t lie when I’m there. He just kept doing it, over and over and over again.” She shuddered at the memory, her body still tense with need.

“I see.” Alistair swallowed hard. “So you…that is…”

“I hurt, Alistair,” Andra whispered, leaning closer to him. “I hurt, and I have no idea what to do about it. I’m not…I’m not Voxum. I’ve never even…I don’t know how to…how to fix it on my own, never mind with someone else.”

“Andra,” Alistair protested, his voice thick, “Are you sure this is what you want? I mean…what about Duncan? I know you’re feelings for him are pretty strong…”

Andra’s head dropped in her hands. “I don’t know. Duncan’s gone. Maybe it wasn’t anything. Just the fantasy of a silly girl. But you’re here. You’re real. Is this just a fantasy?”

Alistair closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow. “I am real. But-“

“But I’ve asked too much.” She pulled away from his side, walking to the desk. “I’ve crossed a line I shouldn’t have. We’re just friends. I’m sorry; this dream clearly has my head muddled. Just give me a few minutes to sort myself out, and I’ll come down for something to eat.” Andra refused to look at him.

“That wasn’t what I-“

“I’ve heard cold showers do the trick. Do you think that will help?”

“…” Alistair stared at her back before speaking again. His voice was frigid. “Yeah. It might.” Footsteps followed, and the sound of the door being closed. Only then did Andra allow herself to wipe the tears away.

Two hours later, fed and dressed in her newly repaired armor, Andra descended the steps of Soldier’s Peak where Levi, Sten and Alistair waited for her. Alistair looked to be in a bad humor, refusing to meet her gaze. Levi spoke first.

“Got a message from your friends in the Brecillian Forest, Commander. They say that one of the groups you were looking for has moved into the area. They’ll be waiting for you just outside the main path to lead you to ‘em.”

“Thank you, Levi.” Andra smiled at the merchant who returned it before moving off. Sten was next.

“I was told you wished me to return here, rather than continuing my assignment to watch the Connor child. Why?”

“Because our new allies, the Templars, are better equipped to assess the threat that Connor represents and one was with Osane and Morrigan – Cullen? Besides which I have something that I think you will be uniquely able to do for me, if I’m correct. If not, I can send you back, or whatever you’d like to do.”

“What is that?”

“We are building an army. But we’re recruiting small groups, maybe even individuals. You were in an army. I’m hoping that means you know how they work, how they need to function, how they need to fight, and most importantly, how they need to be trained to work together. I want you here to take our recruits in and turn them into a functioning army.”

Sten’s eyes widened as he considered what she was asking him. “Very well. I will do this thing.”

“Good. Alistair and I are headed to the Brecillian Forest,” she turned to the male warden, “Unless that’s a problem?”

“No. No problem.”

“Excellent. Let’s go.”

Previously, travel with just Alistair had been pleasant. Enjoyable, even. But Andra found that the silence between them stretched too thin and the air held a certain tension it hadn’t before, and she felt like it was her fault. She tried to apologize several times, but he always brushed it away like an annoying fly, until all she could do was continue their trek in quiet misery. It was in this way that they came across the young woman.

“Oh thank the Maker. We need help! They attacked the wagon, please help us!”

Andra and Alistair exchanged a small glance, before nodding to the woman.

“I’ll take you to them. Follow me!” She ran back the way she’d come before either could question her. The two wardens drew their weapons and followed. Several steps later she stopped at the side of a handsome blonde elf who made a motion with his hand. A moment later they were surrounded. The elf drew two deadly looking daggers as the woman summoned lightning in her hands.

“The Grey Wardens die here!” he said in an odd accent.

Behind them a large tree was pushed over to block their escape. Without thinking, Andra and Alistair moved back to back, protecting each other as best they could. Alistair shut the mage down while Andra went toe to toe with the elf. He kicked out low and swept Andra’s feet from under her, only the thick chainmail at her neck protecting her from the killing blow. She rolled out of the way of the second strike, aimed to fix the miscalculation of the first, and swung back at him with her shield, knocking the elf off balance. The elf’s grin was feral.

“I wonder if you make love like you fight, eh? All passionate and sweaty.”

“If you kill me, you’ll never know.”

“True. I must learn to live with the disappointment.”

She got back on her feet, looking for Alistair. He was on a ridge, taking down a couple of archers. A sharp clang on her breastplate brought her attention back to the fight at hand.

“Am I so boring?” The blond elf tutted. “I must try harder to keep you interested in me.”

“You’re not really my type.” Andra lunged forward, causing the elf to hastily disengage his own attack as he danced out of the way.

“Oh? And what is?” The elf swooped in for a shot to her thigh, which she countered by kicking at him.

“You _really_ don’t want the answer to that,” Andra panted as her mind was suddenly filled with thoughts of Urthemiel’s perfection. Her vision clouded white and hearing roared into static.

 

“Andra! Andra! Come back! ANDRA!” Alistair’s voice penetrated the fog surrounding her.

She blinked, trying to shake away the cobwebs. “I’m here. What happened?”

“That’s what I want to know. One second you’re fighting the elf on an even keel, and the next you go on this rampage for everyone who’s left on the battlefield, friend and foe alike. And you were laughing the whole time. Your eyes were all crazy, but they weren’t cat eyes. What in the Void happened?”

“I don’t know. He was taunting me – the elf I mean. Nothing special. And then…nothing. I heard you.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know.”

Alistair gave her a strange look that she couldn’t place. “Whatever it was, despite slaughtering everything else, you managed to not kill the elf. Do you want to now?”

“Let’s see what he has to say for himself.”

Alistair nodded and kept the elf at swordpoint as Andra found some water to splash on the unconscious one. “Hey. You with us? Good.”

“MmmmmOooh. What? Oh! Oh. I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet…”

“That could easily be rectified,” Andra threatened.

“Of that I have no doubt. I suspect you have questions, yes? Let me make it simple for you. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens – which I have failed at, sadly.”

“Yes, tragic,” quipped Alistair.

“The Crows? They’re assassins. Who hired you?”

“A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain I think his name was. Yes, that’s it. Actually it was his minion who found us, but Loghain approved it, so…”

“His minion?”

“Yes. A question, his name. What, Why…no…How! That was it!”

“Howe.” Andra’s voice became acid, and even Alistair flinched at it.

“And are you loyal to Loghain and Howe?”

“Why would I be? They are simply the contractors. And given that I am supposed to kill you or die trying, I’m not particularly loyal to the Crows, either.”

“I see.” Andra thought for a few moments in silence. “The way I see it, I can kill you now, or you can join us. I can’t let you go, you’ll only try again. If you join us, at least I’ll know of your treachery immediately.”

“Actually, my part in the contract was over as soon as I failed to kill you. By the Crow’s standards, I should be dead. This is no doubt something they will seek to rectify if they find out the case is otherwise. I have no reason to be loyal to a group who expects me to die for failure. Unless of course you do the same, in which case I suppose I don’t come very highly recommended.”

Alistair looked at Andra like she’d grown a second head. “Are you seriously bringing him along?”

Andra waggled her hand back and forth in a ‘maybe’ motion. “What can you do for us?”

Zev sat up slightly. “Obviously my skills with a blade are yours. I can also warn you of impending Crow attacks – now that I have failed, they will likely try again. I can cook, clean, shine your shoes.” He looked up coyly at Andra. “Warm your bed?”

Alistair actually emitted a growl that made Andra look at him sharply before she replied. “Fine. We bring you along. It doesn’t mean we trust you. You won’t be getting anywhere near the cooking. And if I find you in my tent, you will find yourself half the man you were.” She moved off to find a path back to the main road.

Zevran chuckled as he climbed to his feet. “You are a very lucky man, ser, to have the loyalty of such a beauty.”

Alistair snorted in disbelief. “I don’t have anything.”

“So there is still hope for me then?”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh? Does her heart belong to another?”

Alistair shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

“Love usually is. Sex, however, is not.” If Zevran noticed the shadows that passed behind Alistair’s eyes, he made no comment about it as Alistair joined Andra, leaving Zevran to trail behind.


	32. Gathering An Army: Brecilian Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andra, Alistair, Zevran, Isallin, Vena

As the group entered the Brecilian Forest, two figures emerged from the foliage – one was obtrusive, loudly making noise, although her spiky red hair probably would have given her away, regardless. The other may as well have been a ghost. Zevran eyed them both with immediate suspicion until Andra waved.

“Isallin, Vena! We got your message. Sorry we weren’t here sooner. I hope it isn’t too late?”

Vena shook her head. “No, they haven’t moved. In fact they’re having problems. They came under attack as they moved into the area. We’ve been hard pressed to stay out of sight. The Forest wasn’t this angry when I was here last.”

It was more words than Andra had ever heard Vena string together before and she gaped openly at the Dalish elf.

“The forest is…angry. Care to elaborate?”

Isallin spoke up then, taking over for Vena. “The trees move, attacking anyone who comes too close. Except the werewolves.”

“Werewolves.” Andra blinked slowly in disbelief. “Tell me you’re joking. This is a bad joke, right?”

“Sorry.”

“Alright. Let’s go make introductions…”

Vena led the way, moving swiftly among the trees as if it were second nature – and perhaps it was. She had to double back several times when she got too far ahead of the rest of the group. The only one who even half-way kept up with her was Zevran, and that seemed to be more luck than skill. As they walked, Andra filled the two female Wardens in on what had happened at Redcliffe and the Circle. Isallin was hard pressed not to burst out laughing.

“He did it. He actually did it! I can’t believe it!”

Alistair glared at Isallin. “He killed almost everyone in the Circle and nearly killed us, you know.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. It isn’t that. It’s just- Uldred was my mentor in the Circle. He was always going on and on about how the Circle needed to press for freedom from the Chantry. One day he would force everyone to see the truth. It was him who introduced me to the power of Blood Magic, but he was always cautioning me about how tricky demons could be. How you had to be smarter than them to get the best deal. Turns out he was wrong.” She chortled again. “His demon got the better of him in the end after all. Of course it would be a _pride_ demon. Idiot.”

“And you?” Alistair asked archly.

“Me? I made a very careful deal. I even had the tranquil help me with the wording. They’re very precise. And it isn’t a pride demon. I’m not trying for such lofty ideals as freedom for all mage-kind. Just more power for **me**.”

“Shut it. We’re here.” Vena interrupted.

The woods hadn’t changed any, but there was a subtle shift in the air. A moment later a woman materialized in front of them, dressed similarly to Vena, but with very different markings on her face.

“Halt, shemlens. You enter Dalish territory.”

Andra started to step forward, but Vena took the lead, surprising nearly everyone.

“Aneth ara. I am Vhenarellan Mahariel formerly of the Sabrae, now of the Grey Wardens, as are those with me. May we speak to the Keeper?”

The young woman’s eye grew wider as Vena spoke, but she nodded. “Andaran atish’an, Warden Mahariel.” She spun on her heel and marched them past an obvious medical ward where several elves were laid out to a bald elf. The woman bowed curtly before whispering to him. He nodded his dismissal and turned to the Wardens.

“Greetings Wardens. I am Keeper Zathrian. If you are here to warn us of the coming Blight, we are aware. However, as you may has seen as you entered our camp, we cannot currently move.”

“Actually,” Andra said, as she took the lead once more, “We’re here about the treaties the Dalish signed with the Grey Wardens. The ones that promise us help in times of Blight?”

“I see. I fear that we have no more power to help you than we do ourselves. We were-“

“Attacked by werewolves. We know.” Isallin interrupted, impatient as ever.

Zathrian frowned, his tone suspicious. “Yes. Many of our warriors have been afflicted with the curse. Those who are left must stay and guard those of us who remain. If I may, how do you know of the attack?”

“I saw it, from a distance. But one Grey Warden would not have turned the battle, nor was it my mission to do so,” Vena replied crisply. “You say your hunters have been afflicted. In what manner?”

“They will turn, or they will die from their wounds. There is a possible cure, but it is dangerous. I would not even think of asking outsiders – even Grey Wardens – except that Vhenarellan is no outsider. There is a white wolf named Witherfang. It is he who controls the others, and it is from him that the curse spreads. Bring me his heart and I might be able to end the curse once and for all. If you did that, we could have enough hunters to aid you in your battle.”

Andra sighed. “Everyone wants something, don’t they?” she muttered to Alistair, who snickered into his hand. “Fine. Vena, you take point. Zev, protect Isallin. Isallin, if Zevran gets handsy or otherwise annoys you, feel free to zap him. Alistair and I will handle any big problems. Let’s get this over with.”

Vena led them through the majority of the forest with little incident – often spotting and avoiding the wolves and werewolves. There were a few darkspawn about but they were quickly dispatched, and led the group to a wounded Dalish hunter. Andra had Zevran take him back to the camp, trusting that he could find a way to stay out of trouble. At worst, he would murder the already severely wounded man and disappear, letting Andra know his true loyalties, though she kept that thought to herself. The biggest problem they had were that the trees kept _coming alive,_ and attacking them. Vena apparently had no way of telling which were normal trees and which were possessed, so it was always a surprise when one of them was suddenly engulfed in a branchy cage. Andra found herself wishing Mirun had accompanied them, if only to threaten the trees with her axes – the wood wasn’t doing any favors for the sharpness of her or Alistair’s swords. Eventually they came to a passage that Vena declared was the correct path, via the amount of wolfprints. It was, however, covered in a wall of mist they could not penetrate.

“It’s some kind of magic, obviously,” Isallin provided, “but I’ve never seen the like. I have no idea how to get past it or break the enchantment. Sorry.”

“Great. Now what?” Alistair grumbled.

“I see faint humanoid tracks this direction. A couple of them. Either the hunters got this far, or someone else is here as well. Maybe they know something?” Vena offered.

Andra motioned for her to lead on, frustrated at the impasse. The first thing Vena found was a campsite, obviously well used and semi-permanent but the resident was nowhere to be seen.

Isallin snorted in disgust as she approached the tent. “Whoever it is, it’s a healer. Osane smells the same way – all herby and….healthy. I doubt they’d be terribly useful.”

Moving uphill, Vena found another camp. This was older, almost to the point of abandonment, except for Vena’s insistence that someone was living here.

“That’s right! I do! And who are you, to be poking around in people’s things when they aren’t home? Did **they** send you?” The four spun in surprise to find an old man dressed in tattered clothes and a crazed look in his eyes directly behind them.

“They…who…?” Andra asked slowly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The man spoke a little too fast, his hands twitching.

Andra nodded. “Yes. That’s why I asked.”

“Ask a question, get a question. Answer and you’ll get the same!” He laughed madly. “Do you have a question for me?”

Andra glanced at the others, but they seemed as lost and confused as she was. “Is this a game?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“What are the rules?”

“Didn’t I already tell you?”

Andra’s eyes lit up as she suddenly remembered an old game she used to play with Fergus – one she often won. She winked at the others. “Are they the same as before?”

The old man grinned from ear to ear – a disturbing thing, as he was missing more teeth than he owned – realizing he had a real opponent. “Why would they be different?”

She nodded, conceding the point. “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”

“What if it does?”

His eyes narrowed shrewedly. “Did **they** send you?”

“Who is they?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know! I’m on to you!”

“AH! Serpents-naught. You owe me an answer!” Andra crowed in triumph.

“Ach. Tricky. Fine. Ask your question, and you’ll get an answer.”

“Do you know the way through the mist to the werewolves?” Andra motioned towards the path in question.

“Yes.” He laughed again when Andra frowned at him. “I know how to trick the forest. I’ll show you, but only if you kill the talking tree. It’s annoying. And I need more firewood.”

“A talking tree. Right. Shall we play again?”

“Is there a point?”

“I have things to trade…” He offered.

Andra grinned. “Daggers-naught! Show me.”

“Oh, now that’s not fair! I didn’t know we were playing yet!” The old man complained as he got out a few ‘treasures’ – an acorn, an old book, and an ancient looking helmet.

“I suppose the acorn is from your talking tree?” Alistair asked dryly.

“Of course it is. Stupid thing shouldn’t have just left it lying about where anyone could pick it up if it was so precious.”

“What do you want for it?” Isallin queried.

“What have you got?”

The group started with coin, which the old man naturally scoffed at, before emptying their pockets. Eventually several trades were formed from a well read romance novel of Isallin’s, an arrow from Vena, a slice of cheese from Alistair (“Hey! That was my lunch!”), and a bit of lint and string from Andra. As she was passing the items off, one of the pages of the book gave Andra a paper cut, soaking the string. The hermit stared, fascinated.

“That…that’s worth more than…” he stuttered, “Don’t go anywhere.” He vanished into thin air.

Andra and Alistair eyed each other worriedly as she sucked on the cut. Isallin too, was giving Andra an odd look, but remained silent. A moment later, the hermit returned, bearing a pelt of some kind.

“This will get you through the barrier. Take it. Take it and go. I have much to do!” In a puff of smoke he was gone again.

Mostly to herself, Andra asked “Is the game over?” but there was no reply.

They shrugged at each other and moved back towards the mysteriously misty path. Like a curtain, the fog parted for them – or rather for the pelt they carried - closing behind them as they passed, and then they were through and the sun shone once more. They were in a ruin, old and decrepit. And everywhere, there were wolves and werewolves. One of them charged forward, causing the group to draw weapons. It stopped just short of them, pulling up to an impressive height.

“Who are you?” It growled. “How did you come to be here?”

Another joined it, its voice even deeper than the first. “It doesn’t matter. Kill them and be done with it. We will protect The Lady!”

Andra stepped forward, weapon still very much at the ready. “I am Andra, Commander of the Grey. Zathrian didn’t tell us you could talk…”

“You see?!” snarled the second. “They are here at the behest of the Dalish. They are here to kill The Lady.”

“Peace, brother,” replied the first, before turning to the Wardens. “You speak his name as if you know him well, human. You do his bidding when he tells you lies.”

“What lies?” Andra dropped her sword to her side, still unsheathed, but relaxed now. “It’s true that we come on a mission from Zathrian. But clearly he doesn’t understand you as well as he should. Is this…Lady your leader? I do not wish to fight you. If there is another solution here, I would happily find it. Perhaps if we could speak…”

“NO!” shouted the second. “They mean treachery, like all of their kind! She travels with two elves!”

“SILENCE,” the first rumbled. “I am Swiftrunner. If you would speak with The Lady then you will put away your weapons and you will not reach for them again.”

Andra nodded, and slid her sword into its scabbard, motioning the others to do the same. The wolves surrounded them, leading them deep into the ruins. There, a magnificent tree grew, and a nearly naked woman greeted them. Her body was the color of churned earth, her clothing branches and vines, and her voice like an echoing babbling brook. Andra kicked Alistair when she noticed him staring.

“Greetings. I am the Lady of the Forest. Swiftrunner tells me that you are here on Zathrian’s request. But I suspect he has not told you everything.”

“Greetings to you, Lady,” Andra returned. “That is indeed true, although it is already obvious he has left out a few details, such as your existence and the fact that your compatriots can speak and think. We were led to believe they were simple animals.” She glanced to Swiftrunner, who now stood beside the Lady. “My apologies.”

“Indeed, there was a time when that was true. But that time has long since passed. If I may- what were your original intentions?”

“We were to seek out a white wolf named Witherfang, kill it, and return with its heart, that Zathrian might be able to lift the curse that affects his hunters.”

This was met with a chorus of growls, but the Lady silenced them with a wave of her hand. “Without endangering our own curse. I see. I had hoped that the plight of his own people would draw him here. That it would at last make him see reason, but it would seem that is not the case.” Seeing the look of confusion on Andra’s face, the Lady continued. “When Zathrian was a young man, he had a family. A group of human settlers moved into the area. Sadly, they were not humanity’s best example and they killed his son and raped his daughter. Several weeks later, his daughter was found to be pregnant. Rather than live with the shame, she killed herself. In his grief and rage, Zathrian summoned a great spirit and poured all of his hatred and pain into it. The spirit the turned and attacked the settlers, turning them into the animals Zathrian saw them as – and perhaps as they deserved. These-“ the Lady motioned to the werewolves around her, “are not those settlers. They are the descendants of them, or unintended victims of the curse, or both.”

“The spirit. It was Witherfang wasn’t it?” Andra asked quietly.

“Yes. Will you bring Zathrian here to listen to our plea for peace? It is time for the curse to end. It is time for the hatred to end.”

“What happens when it does?”

“They become human, as they are supposed to be.”

Andra smiled sadly. “And you, Witherfang?”

The Lady chuckled softly. “It seems I can hide nothing. Yes. I will die. As will Zathrian. Our lives are bound together by the spell he wove, and they will end together.”

“They will not!” Zathrian’s voice echoed around the chamber, and the Wardens turned to see the Keeper descending the stairs. “I will not give you what you seek, spirit! They are animals still.”

“Is it your hatred that drives you, or your fear of death, I wonder?” Alistair mused.

“You know nothing of hatred and rage. Of the pain I felt when they took my family from me! Nothing of-”

“Nothing of watching your ancestral home burn to the ground. Nothing of those you cared for most slaughtered in their sleep by people you trusted. People you called friend. Nothing of being told to run, knowing you were leaving them to their deaths. Oh yes, good Keeper,” Andra growled, her eyes flashing dangerously. “I know nothing of pain and suffering. You think you are the only one to have suffered such losses in your over-long lifetime? You think you are the only victim of such agony? You think you’re special? Think again. Right now, the only thing you are is the one _causing_ the problems, and right now you have a choice. You can choose to fix it by ending this curse, and giving these people a chance at a real life – something they have never had, for something they never did – or you can choose to be a problem, and I will _make you_ end this curse.”

Zathrian’s voice was hot steel, hissing. “You cannot make me do anything.”

Andra’s voice was ice. “Isallin, make him dance.”

In a flash, a red aura wrapped around Isallin, swirling like a cloak before shooting over to Zathrian and surrounding his head. The Keeper screamed as he dropped to his knees, clutching at his own head as he struggled with her mental intrusion.

“He’s fighting me!” Isallin ground out through gritted teeth.

Andra made the few steps it took to get to Isallin’s side, and used the mage’s dagger to slice her finger open, squeezing out several drops of blood.

“Andra, no! What are you doing?” Alistair protested.

“Whatever It Takes.” Andra nodded to Alistair, a silent promise that it would be alright. “Isallin, use this.”

As Andra’s blood joined the spell, the red glow took on a decidedly golden hue. Isallin let out a soft “oh!” of surprise as Zathrian was suddenly overpowered by the spell and stopped fighting. To test it, she made him do a few steps of the Remigold. “End the curse, Zathrian. End it.”

The Keeper, so dominated, could not deny the command, and a few minutes later both he and the Lady were dead. The werewolves slowly resolved into their human forms.

“You did it!” The man formerly known as Swiftrunner cheered. “You actually did it!”

Andra nodded in agreement, weary. “I’d recommend staying away from both big cities and the Dalish for a while, until you get the hang of being human.”

“Of course! Come, brothers and sisters! Let us be free of this place at last!”

“Us too. We need to explain to the Dalish why they don’t have a Keeper anymore.” Vena snorted.

“As diplomatically as possible, of course,” Andra added.

As they left the forest with their new Dalish envoy, Andra mused on the fact that the explanation had actually been much easier than anticipated. The First – who was now the Keeper – was a woman named Layana who had felt it when Zathrian had passed. She knew some of Zathrian’s story, but not all of it, and accepted it when told that Zathrian had decided it would be in everyone’s best interest if the curse finally came to an end. She also promised the aide of their clan and any other Dalish they could contact in accordance with the treatise.

Once free of the forest, Andra sent the envoy, Vena, and Zevran to the Peak to get settled in while she, Alistair, and Isallin returned to Redcliffe in the hopes of rescuing Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ‘game’ Andra and the Hermit are playing is actually The Question Game from ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead’. Andra is using Wicked Grace terms for the scoring instead of tennis though. I was **so** disappointed when it turned out the hermit _wasn’t_ playing TQG after all, you have no idea.


	33. Campfire Tales: Vhenarellan (Vena) Mahariel

No one knew where she had come from. It was the first thing Vhenarellan learned about herself from the storyteller. If she was a city elf, abandoned in the woods, a Dalish babe left behind by another clan, slave, servant, or free – it was all a mystery. Her mother had found Vena while she was out hunting, a soft happy gurgle of a baby drawing her attention. Following the noise, she found an old statue of Fen’Harel. At the Dread Wolf’s feet was a baby, cooing happily at some unseen amusement. A head of pure white hair covered pale skin, and the babe looked up at her with pale grey eyes. Knowing she couldn’t leave the baby alone, she took it back to the clan, and she and her husband adopted it instead, naming the little girl Vhenarellan – She who belongs to the Dreaded One.

 

Perhaps if this had not been the first knowledge than Vhenarellan had learned about herself she would have grown up more naturally. Perhaps, if the Keeper and other elders of the Clan had placed a stronger emphasis on the fact that they were all one Clan now regardless of their origins, as they did when flat-ears joined them, she would have felt a part of the whole. As it was, she was neither. Vhenarellan grew with the clan, but apart from them. She was six when her father was killed by humans and her mother vanished without a trace. The little protection she had died with them. The other children would call her len’fen– wolf-child – when they were being kind, or len’harel lath’din - dreaded child no one loves – when being cruel. Her grey eyes became cold and calculating, and her steps became cautious as she learned to look for tricks and traps the other children set for her. Her favorite time quickly became when she was hunting – alone in the forest with no sounds but those she and her prey made, and she learned to be as silent as possible – and to kill as quickly as she could with her bow.

 

The time came for Vhenarellan to gain her vallaslin when she turned eighteen. She braced herself as Marethari lined the needles up, determined to be as silent as she was when she hunted. It shocked her, however, that the Keeper went straight for her eyelids – traditionally the most painful part and usually saved for after you had become accustomed to the sensation. The needles moved fast, but she dared not open her eyes or even move them as the Keeper continued her work. Several hours later Marethari announced that she was finished, but the design had taken an unexpected turn. It was not uncommon for the vallaslin to speak through the Keeper to write as it willed on the face of the Dalish child-turned-adult, but apparently she was something new. Carefully, Marethari held up a mirror. A grey slash, the same color as her eyes streaked across her eyes from brow to brow. It dipped gracefully down the sides of her nose and fanned out under her cheekbones, accentuating them. It colored her lower lip as well, but did not trail down her chin as vallaslin often did. Her neck was circled in another thick band of grey color – a permanent necklace where her chin met her neck. It somehow made her look more wild, like a wolf that was only tame because she had to be. It would only serve to distance her further from the clan; yet another way to mark her as different, and now possibly something to be feared as well. She loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Beloved Readers! Probably no new laptop until after the new year so updates will continue to be sketchy until then. Inquisition is on my X-mas gotta-have-it list, so that will also interrupt updates at some point. Oh, and my daughter’s 3rd birthday party in there somewhere too. December/January is busy for me. Sorry! I'm so sorry! I hope the story is worth the wait. ^-^`


	34. Campfire Tales: A Moment’s Peace

Though they traveled quickly, it was still several days travel to get back to Redcliffe. Isallin had asked Andra several times about the additional boost her spell had gotten after using Andra’s blood, but so far the Cousland lady had managed to avoid giving a direct answer. Most recently, as they set down their camp for the evening, Isallin discovered a small but deep pool and declared that she was going to wash off while dinner was being prepared. Neither Andra nor Alistair stopped her.

“You’ve been…very quiet recently,” Andra started once the meal was beginning to cook.

“Yep.” Alistair continued to sharpen his sword, working the notches out of the steel.

“You’re angry.”

“You think?”

Andra’s head dropped as she sank down next to him. “Can we talk about it?”

“What’s to talk about? You’ve made it clear, from the beginning, that you’ll do anything to get what you need to fight the Blight. Apparently that includes approving of blood magic, and using powers we don’t understand.” The tightly reined in fury in his voice seemed to make Andra shrink further into herself.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry. Great. What happens the next time you fall asleep and we can’t wake you up because Dragon-Boy has his claws so deep into you that you can’t fight him anymore? What happens when we meet the Archdemon in person?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. We don’t know. And even knowing that, you used that power for blood magic! Andra, you’ve been warned by possibly the creepiest person in existence that you have to resist the power it – no, **he** – offers you. But from where I’m standing, all you’ve been doing is running headlong for him. Why? What has he got that-? Uch. Nevermind.”

Andra got a faraway look in her eyes as she remembered her dreams. “It’s not like I don’t know that, Alistair. But it’s so hard to remember when I dream. When I see him. He’s…” She sighed, saddened that she could never make him understand. “He’s perfect. Physically, I mean. Mentally, he’s so alien – it’s really jarring sometimes. He says he loves me, but he doesn’t understand the word. A ‘want-desire-need of a person-lover’. A definition I gave him, in the beginning, before I knew what he was.”

Alistair laughed humorlessly. “That’s your definition of love?”

“Yes.” Andra looked up at Alistair, her eyes wet. “I never got to explain to him. He took it at face value, so he understands love as – I don’t know, lust, maybe. An obsession. But that wasn’t what I meant. When you love someone, you want them; physically, yes, but also emotionally. You want them to be happy. You want to make them happy. The only thing you need from them is to see a smile on their face or to hear their laughter, and the knowledge that you put it there. It’s an ache inside you, to be with them. Simply. Something as simple as a walk or sharing a meal. An understanding that passes between you in a glance or a touch. It doesn’t have to be lust. It just has to be.” She shook her head, standing. “I’m babbling, sorry. You don’t care about any of this. Look, to answer your fears, if I fall asleep and I don’t wake up – just kill me, okay? I’ll probably wake up his thrall or something anyway. As least asleep I can’t fight back.”

She moved back to the fire to check on dinner, stirring the stew so it didn’t burn. Alistair stared at her back, jaw slightly dropped. He closed it with a click and strode purposefully to her, pulling her roughly away from the fire to face him.

“Hey!”

He ignored her protest, wrapping one hand around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She froze, stunned, eyes staring. A heartbeat later they drifted closed as she moved into him, moving her lips slightly against his and raising her hands to curl around his neck, fingers idly playing with the hairs there. They broke for air and gawked at each other.

“Andra,” Alistair started, and was started to find his voice huskier than usual. “If that’s your definition of love, then-“ he swallowed, finding the words difficult. “Then I’m afraid I’ve been in love with you for some time now.   Maker’s breath, this is not how I pictured this is going…”

“You’ve…what?” Andra asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I- I know it sounds crazy, I do. But it’s true. I look at you and I see…I see something beautiful and precious. I see something so amazingly strong and somehow at the same time not weak or fragile, but I don’t know, gentle and soft, I guess. And I see this darkness that’s sweeping over the land – destroying everything in its path – and it has its sights set on you, Andra. And that terrifies me. All I want to do is to protect you from it, and hold you close while I wipe away the pain I can see in your eyes when you talk about your family and make you smile.” He shrugged. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me it was a natural reaction, and you don’t actually feel anything for me and I’ll never bring it up again, I swear.”

Andra glanced to the ground then back to Alistair’s light brown eyes. “I’d be lying.”

“Really?” Alistair’s voice was full of wonder.

Andra pulled away from his embrace. “But I can’t.”

“What? Why not?”

“Urthemiel. He’s jealous. Very jealous. I belong to him and he’d punish me for even thinking of a life with you.”

Alistair swallowed loudly. “What happened to fighting him? Living the life you want to lead?”

Andra closed her eyes as the memory of her dream surged forth and awakened a deep ache within her. “You don’t know what it’s like. Maybe mages can do it, but how can I fight a dream? A _perfect_ dream?”

“I’m willing to find a way…if you are.”

“Oh, Alistair. I don’t know. I want to, but-“

“But nothing. We figure it out. We fight it, until all you dream about is cheese.”

“Please tell me we aren’t having cheese for dinner because Alistair burned the stew again!” Isallin complained, coming back from her bath.

Alistair’s mouth quirked. “If it’s burnt, it’s Andra’s fault.”


	35. Gathering An Army: Redcliffe Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andra, Alistair, Morrigan, Wynne, Osane, Isallin

Andra was amazed to find that no further dreams plagued her sleep, though the ache that had been re-awakened within her refused to abate, much to her annoyance. It seemed that any time she so much as glanced at Alistair or if he gave her one of his charming half-smiles she’d find her small-clothes utterly soaked, her breasts aching with the need to be touched, and she had no idea what to do about it. Alistair approached her more than once, attempting to continue the conversation, but Andra always managed to dodge him entirely, or get him off subject quickly enough that he couldn’t press the point further as the three finished their journey back to Redcliffe Castle.

Cullen greeted them at the gates, hatred filling his voice. “Your mage-boy is still safe, though I can’t say for how much longer. We can hear him ranting all the way downstairs and- Isallin?” The Templar turned bright red as he noticed the elven mage with the two human Wardens.

“Cullen.” Isallin’s voice was surprisingly soft. “They told me a Templar was here. I wasn’t expecting…but of course it would be…um, hi.”

The Templar frowned. “Did they tell you your boyfriend is downstairs in the dungeon? That _he_ was the one who started all of this? More blood magic,” Cullen spat in disgust.

“My boy- Jowan is here?” Isallin turned to Andra. “You were looking for a fifth mage, right? Let him do it. He won’t go into the Fade, he’ll just help power the spell.”

“You must be joking! A blood mage? With access to raw lyrium? Not in a million years.” Protests came from both Alistair and Cullen, but Andra cut them off with a hand wave.

“Alistair, do you want to save Connor or not? The only other option I can think of is Avernus – assuming we could even convince him to come out of the Peak – and he’s at least as bad as Jowan, probably worse. Cullen says we don’t have time to try and find another choice. Whoever goes, you two get to act as official Templars, and I’ll be back up if I can.”

“Fine,” Alistair sighed. “But just so you know, I think this is a really bad idea.”

“Noted. Go get Jowan. I’ll get the others so Wynne can start setting up.”

Several hours later the main hall had become frighteningly similar to the Harrowing Chamber of the Tower. Incense was burning, giving a heady perfume to the air, and candles lit nearly every corner. In the center of the hall, four mages stood at cardinal points around a podium that held a bowl of glowing liquid lyrium, chanting some low almost inaudible nonsense. At one entrance Alistair stood in full armor, sword naked. At the other entrance Cullen stood, identical. Andra walked with Osane to the podium.

Osane’s startling blue eyes flashed and caught Andra’s as she spoke. “I’m going to enter the Fade now, and face the Demon that holds Connor and the Arl hostage. You will know if I fail, and you will have to cut both me and Connor down. Possibly the Arl as well, though I think it more likely that he will simply die. I beg you not to interrupt until you are sure that I have succeeded or failed. I don’t know how long this will take.”

Osane smiled reassuringly as she touched the lyrium. Her eyes closed in bliss as it sank into her skin and she slowly lowered herself to the floor with Andra’s help.  For nearly thirty minutes there is nothing but tense silence among those not in the Fade, and then, at long last, Osane opened her eyes.

“I have succeeded. Connor is free.” There was a collective gasp of relief, most audibly from Isolde and Alistair who rushed up the stairs to check on the boy. “I am…very tired. Would it be alright if I rested for a while?” Osane asked with a shy smile.

“Of course. Take all the time you need. You’ve done well.”

“And what of me?” Jowan asked hesitantly.

“Are you serious? This helps prove your good intentions, but it hardly absolves you of being a _malificarum_. You’ll go back to your cell and wait for Arl Eamon to sentence you – assuming he lives. If not, I suppose Teagan or Connor will do it,” Andra answered, incredulity in her voice.

Jowan hung his head. “O-of course…”

“I’ll take him. We have some catching up to do, and I’m sure he knows the way,” Isallin offered seriously.

Andra nodded, more concerned with getting Osane to a softer bed than the stone floor.

“M’lady Warden Andra?” Came an unknown voice from the castle entrance.

“Yes? I’m here.”

“Please, ma’am. I’m a nephew of Levi Dryden. He said a message came for you, and you’d want to know about it right away. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Bring it here.”

Nervously, the young man scampered over and handed a note, simply folded, the seal broken.

> _Commander-_
> 
> _Orzammar is a mess. King Endrin, has died since I was last here, and the Deshyrs cannot decide on the next king. It’s a political nightmare that isn’t getting cleaned up anytime soon. Mirun and I are doing what we can to push them to see beyond their own noses, but the fact remains that without a king to approve the Treaty, the Wardens won’t be getting their traditional allies any time soon. We can probably push things one way or another, but I’m pretty sure we aren’t supposed to get involved in politics, so I didn’t want to overstep my authority without your say so._
> 
> _-Sescha_

Andra thought for a moment, then motioned for a couple of guards to help Osane and gestured for the little Dryden to follow her into Eamon’s study where she found a quill and ink.

> _Sescha and Mirun-_
> 
> _We need the Dwarves at our backs. I remember my father saying that for all that human politics were confusing; Dwarven politics were simply beyond him. I fear I would do badly, playing those games. They’re your people, I trust you to choose what will be best for them and not just for us. Alistair and I will join you as soon as possible, but this note will reach you days before. Hopefully you can set things into motion by then, and our presence will only be a formality._
> 
> _-Andra_

“I need you to take this to the gates of Orzammar,” Andra instructed the messenger as she sealed the paper, “They will no doubt bar your entry, so simply give it to the guard and tell him or her it is for the Grey Wardens within from their Commander. It should be sufficient. Hopefully. Meanwhile, check at the tavern. There’s a red-head there named Bella. Tell her I sent you for a warm meal and a bed if you need one and I’ll pay her for it later.”

“Right away, ma’am!”

Andra sighed, rolling her shoulders. Idly she picked up a book from Eamon’s library and began to flip through it. She never noticed when her head lightly hit the pages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Beloved Readers! Proof that I am still among the living, and still committed to this fic! I'm just currently absorbed by Inquisition because...well...Inquisition. But hey, I should be getting a new laptop soon, and that will greatly increase my fic productivity! Hurrah!  
> ~Cryl


	36. Dream

Urthemiel greets Andra in the Fade, not as he had before, with tricks or bondage, but simply as a man. She is dressed as she had been when she’d touched the lyrium – fully armored – and the setting is the true Fade rather than some dream-state. He walks to her from some distant point, and when he reaches her he bows deeply, a man to a courtly lady.

_We must speak._

Do I have a choice in the matter?

_Yes. This time…yes. I heard you. Your…explanation. It echoed to me. I would speak to you of it._

My explanation?

_Of love. It would seem that my grasp of your definition was…incomplete. I went looking for further understanding. I believe I have it now._

_I also believe I have done you a great disservice. I wish to correct that._

How?

_I am…unsure. Your ways are not my own, and I fear my ignorance will only lead to further hatred on your part._

What do you want from me?

The heat in his eyes in unmistakable and she feels herself melting as they rake over her form. Even so she manages to keep him at arm’s length.

What does that mean, though?

_I want everything from you. I want your body. I want your cries. I want your voice to scream my name. I want to you cling to me as if I am the only thing keeping you alive. I want your heart to beat for me and me alone. When you fall asleep I want you to dream of me. When you wake I want you to wish you were in my arms, at my side. I want you to smile at men and laugh at them because they will never touch you. I want you to be Mine._

She kisses him then. Not a tender kiss of love, or a kiss of acceptance of what he is asking; it is not a kiss of forgiveness. No. This is a kiss meant to rip insight and meaning from his words and put them into pure emotion. He understands and kisses her back hungrily, grasping her hair tightly in his fingers and pulling just a little too hard. He nibbles his way down her neck just a little too roughly, one hand ripping away the clasps of the breastplate with a single violent motion. She comprehends.

It hurts you! The Taint. You want to be free of it, as much as we wish you to stop attacking our lands, and the Grey Wardens – I – can give that freedom to you.

_More…_

She is unsure if his half-moan is a command for understanding or simply more skin. She decides on both as she slides her hands under his shirt. More of her armor hits the ground in wreckage.

You don’t want to die. Is there a way? Alistair said the only way is to cut off your head.

_He does not know the truth. There are ways…there are always ways. Old ways._

She steps back from that, both figuratively and literally – breaking the kiss.

What do you mean? What ways?

_I am an Old God. Do you think it so simple a thing to Kill a God? No. This is a reason for your order. The only reason. Tainted as I am, my form, my soul if you will, is drawn to the closest next most powerful source of Taint. Normally that is a darkspawn. A darkspawn has no soul – it is simply a vessel. But, given a choice, it will always be a Warden over your average darkspawn. However, two things cannot be in the same space at the same time. They cancel each other out. Both die._

No!

_Yes. However, a child still in the womb and created of the Taint, would survive such a joining. I would…become…the child, free of the Taint once again._

Andra feels ill.

This is why you want me? To get me with child. To…become your own father?

He considers.

_I am not sure such a thing is possible from the Fade. It would not have to be your child, and I will not allow you to carry another’s. Another way is even older, deeper magic. It too requires a sacrifice, though this one need not be so willing._

Tell me.


	37. Campfire Tales: Isallin Surana

Isallin’s first memory is a burning tree. Her second memory is a Templar woman telling her to be calm. Her third memory is of the Circle. From these memories Isallin knew that she was incredibly young when her talent for magic manifested, and like most mages, she ended up burning something down. The fact that it was a tree – rather than a person or a building – was perhaps fortunate, and made the Templars kinder to her than they might have been. She was also quite sure that it wasn’t an Alienage tree (Isallin had made quiet inquiries, and none hade claims of being burnt), and from this, Isallin had deduced that she was Dalish.

Upon deciding this truth for herself at the tender age of nine, Isallin set to work with a fever; learning everything she could about the Dalish from the libraries of the Circle. She learned their known history. She learned what little she could of their culture. She spoke with every other elf in the Circle and learned what she could of their language. She was fourteen when she read Brother Genitivi’s The Travels of A Chantry Scholar and learned about vallaslin –blood writing, though had no idea what they looked like. With careful planning, and the help of her friend Jowan who had been learning the basics of healing magic, the two set about giving Isallin her very own vallaslin. She sat at the vanity of the dormitory in the wee hours of the morning and painstakingly traced an intricate pattern across her face, first with a quill, and then with an incredibly sharp knife. Jowan healed her gently – only to the point where the ruined skin was pink and raw. And then she did it again. And again. The pair repeated this for hours, and when Isallin finally declared she was done and happy with the work her face was forever scarred – true blood writing, though void of any meaning. The pair cleaned up as best they could and went back to bed.

It should have come as no surprise that the Templars reacted as badly as they did, to find one of their charges suddenly covered in scars, robes with specks of blood on it. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. They hauled before the First Enchanter _and_ the Knight Commander to answer for her “crimes”. It took most of the day, but she was eventually absolved of blood magic and given a mentor. It was early in her training for Isallin to have a personal mentor, but as it was explained to her, this was not a reward but rather a watch system – she was being put on probation. One misstep, one false move, one hint of blood magic or possession by any templar, or her mentor and she would be taken care of…immediately. That was when she met Uldred for the first time.

Uldred claimed to hate having students. They took away from his research. They were stupid and ignorant. They were _boring_. Isallin made it her mission to be as unboring as possible. She refused to bother him with questions that she could ask other teachers. She never interrupted him when he was working. In return, he actually began to look at her as something more than a bother. That was when she began to show him her talents. She excelled and delighted in magics that destroyed, and the bigger the boom the better. When Uldred introduced her to the ‘Walking Bomb’ spell, along with a corpse to try it on, Isallin nearly passed out from laughing as putrid guts dripped down the over-watching Templar’s unamused face. That was the moment Uldred decided to bring Isallin into his inner circle – she just didn’t know it yet.


	38. Gathering an Army: Orzammar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andra, Alistair, Mirun, Sescha

“We need to talk.”

“No we don’t.”

“Would you just….listen to me? Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?”

Andra resisted the urge to rub her eyeballs into her head and turned to face the former Templar. “I listen, Alistair. I hear you when you speak. But this? There isn’t anything to talk about… Especially not on a path leading into the mountains on our way to Orzammar with a politically dangerous climate. This isn’t the time.”

“This isn’t the time,” Alistair repeated quietly, a sad look in his eyes. “And after this we have to do something about Eamon’s illness. And after that we have to go to Denerim and deal with Loghain. And after _that_ we have to face the archdemon and stop the Blight. And who knows if there will even **be** an after that, but if there is I’m sure there will be something else.”

“What’s your point?” Andra asked a little more harshly than she intended.

Alistair recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “My point was that it will never be the time. But maybe that’s what you want.” He began walking again, past his chosen commander, face stony.

“Dammit,” Andra muttered as she jogged to catch up with him.

When she’d awoken from her dream (and discovered she’d drooled on the pages of the book she’d been reading) she left the office to find a real bed and collapsed. The next few days were a blur of checking and re-checking Connor to make sure that he was truly free of the demon’s touch, discussing the succession of the Guerrin line and what, if anything, could be done to restore Eamon to health. His wife, Isolde, was convinced beyond all reason that the Urn of Sacred Ashes was real, still in existence, and findable by mere mortals. Andra was less so. Eventually she had been persuaded to follow up with the famous author, Brother Genitivi, who lived in Denerim and had been doing research on the subject. She spent an entire day drawing up written orders – one letter to Voxum and Leliana in Denerim about Genitivi and the Urn, one letter to Sten and the Drydens apprising them of the overall situation and her current location, and one to Wynne, Morrigan, Osane, and Isallin concerning what they should do next. All were to be delivered after she and Alistair left for Orzammar. Alistair packed, and the two had left before the sun had risen the next day.

“Fine. Fine. We’ll talk. What is it that you need to say so badly?” Andra huffed as she caught up to the blond man.

Alistair shook his head. “Clearly it’s nothing you want to hear. Forget I said anything…”

Andra stopped in her tracks, stunned. Alistair, unaware, kept walking for several paces before realizing that she was no longer beside him. He turned to look back at her. “What?”

“I- I’m sorry. I just- no.” Andra struggled with herself for a moment. “I never meant to push you away like that. If there’s something you want to talk about, then let’s talk. We should stop for lunch soon anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“About lunch? Absolutely.”

Alistair chuckled in spite of himself. “I can never say no to a woman offering to feed me. Alright, you’ve got my attention.”

For a few minutes the two busied themselves setting up a fire, collecting water and so on, but as their sausages cooked the silence built between them, until the male Warden couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sooo…had any interesting dreams lately?”

Andra blinked. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes! Well, no. Well, sort-of. Aughh. Look. I want to– I need to know…if you didn’t have this perfect-man-dragon-thing running around in your head doing Maker knows what to you in your dreams…would you and I…would we…have a chance? Or am I just completely hallucinating here? Because it wouldn’t be the first time, but that wasn’t my fault. No one warned me not to eat the mushrooms growing next to the-“

“Alistair!” Andra interrupted with a giggle. “I’m not a mushroom.”

“I know that! I’m just trying to say that-“

“Alistair I…I don’t know how to say this. I know what love is, when I’m talking about my mother or father or brother. I know what love is supposed to feel like according to the songs and stories. But…I’ve never been in love. I never even fancied anyone – which annoyed my mother to no end, by the way. I don’t know what I had with Duncan. What I might have had. I don’t _know_. But I’d like to think that the fluttery feeling that I get in my stomach whenever I look at you, the warm glow in my face when you smile at me, the sheer panic I feel when I see you get hit in combat, that those mean something more than friendship. I’ve never felt like that around anyone before, except for you…and him. And the things he says…knowing what he is, what he could do to you, that panic rises up and chokes me into compliance. I would do anything to keep you safe, Alistair. And if that means…if that means that there is no ‘us’ and never will be, then so be it.”

“So….that’s a yes?”

Andra nodded miserably.

“Okay,” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he considered his next words. “Okay. You do remember that your Urthemiel is the Archdemon, right?”

“I remember.”

“And that our job is to kill the Archdemon?”

Andra furrowed her brow, pained. “I know.”

“So any claims he makes on you or your heart are temporary at best. And they’re probably a ploy to get you to doubt yourself when the time comes for the killing blow.”

“I know my duty, Alistair. If it comes to that, I won’t hesitate.”

“ _If_ it comes to that?! It will! You know it will.”

“No, I don’t, and neither do you! Duncan sent to Orlais for Grey Warden reinforcements. They could arrive at any time. If they do, you can guarantee they won’t want a couple of rookies taking the front lines against the Archdemon – just like Duncan didn’t. Even if they don’t show up, any one of us could be in the best position to take the final blow. It might not be me. It might be you! Maker forbid…”

“Take the final blow… that’s an odd way to say it, Andra. And why Maker forbid? Has he said something to you?” Alistair asked, suddenly wary.

Andra scowled, angry at herself for the slip. “So what if he has? Didn’t you just say that everything he does and says is a ploy? So ignore it. It wasn’t your original point anyway. You got your answer. If Urthemiel wasn’t in my head then yes, you and I could probably try to pursue something, but he is so we can’t.”

“At least give me a chance, Andra! Let me court you. Properly. Like you deserve. He can court you or whatever in your head and I can court you here in the real world. We fight for your heart, and only you can pick the winner.”

Andra laughed bitterly. “And the loser ends up dead. Fantastic.”

"No, Andra," Alistair said quietly. "He ends up dead either way. You just hate me less for it if you can love me, too."

Andra turned away, unwilling to let him see how watery her eyes had become. "I could never hate you."

"Well, that's something, at least."

They ate, and finished their journey on much lighter topics. On arriving, the gate guard opened the massive doors to the underground kingdom with little fuss. Inside, they were almost immediately directed to the entrance to the deep roads.

"Your people just left less than an hour ago, Wardens. If you hurry, you should be able to catch up to them."

They ran. They could see evidence of the dwarves passing - dead darkspawn and other things. The two didn't stop to catalogue the species. When the two Wardens finally caught up to their comrades it was in an old dwarven thaig.  
"I can see Branka all over the place here. She'd always take samples at regular intervals along the walls whenever she was in a new tunnel..." said a gruff unfamiliar and very male voice.

"Huh. Why would she do that?" Mirun asked.

"Who cares? She was here and that means we're on the right path. That's all that matters," Sescha answered, annoyed as always with the duster.

"Sescha! Mirun!" Andra called out to them.

"Whozzat? I'm hearin' things!" The man said alarmed.

"Commander?" Sescha asked.

"Shhh! Not so loud! You'll bring more spiders down on us!" Mirun admonished.

Alistair and Andra rounded the corner of an ancient building to see a red-headed dwarf swing a huge axe wildly. "Bring 'em on!"

"Easy there, Oghren. No need to ask for trouble," Sescha shook her head, then nodded to her superiors in greeting. "Good to see you."

"And you! It wasn't hard to follow your trail, but....what on Thedas are you doing down here? I thought you guys were getting us allies? And who is this"

Mirun rolled her eyes and Sescha gave a long suffering sigh.

"You want real answers or just the results?" Mirun asked.

Alistair looked from one dwarf to the next, a baffled expression on his face. "There's a difference?"

"Oh yeah. And it’s _boring as nug shit_." Mirun grumbled.

Andra smirked. "Real answers, but in brief, as best you can."

Mirun shook her head as Seshca settled into an alert sitting position. "Get comfortable, Commander. Even in brief this will take a bit, as you well know," Sesha said, motioning to a bit of bare rock. Andra nodded and sat as Mirun pointedly went on a patrol.

"So dwarven politics - in a nutshell, as deadly as they are in Antiva, as weird as they are in Orlais. Unlike Orlais, you don't _have_ to play, though you might end up being a pawn anyway. That's just how it is. So King Endrin died - my father, if you didn't know - maybe because of heartbreak, maybe because my brother Bhelan killed him. That leaves the throne empty. The dwarves have a...let’s call it a council... who vote from themselves on who the next king will be. Bhelan is one choice. Harrowmont, my father's most trusted advisor is the other. It’s a pretty bitter fight and the council is deadlocked. We don't get help until there's a butt sitting in the chair, so we have to play politics." Sescha sighed. "Which basically means the Wardens are choosing the dwarves next king. We're choosing the fate of the dwarves for the next - minimum - thirty years. Kind of a big deal. Mirun and I have been playing politics for the last week and a half - ever since we got your letter. Turns out we have some common ground after all. We both hate it. The short of it is that we're playing. It looks like we're supporting Harrowmont, but we're actually supporting Bhelan. Everything we're done has supported his cause. We've turned House Helmi to his side by showing that he had promised two different people the same piece of land if he won - probably false, but it got the job done. We reinstated House Orta who will support him when the vote comes. We got rid of the leader of the carta in Dust Town, and although Harrowmont took the credit for it, there was mysteriously evidence later found that he'd been supporting them all along. There was a proving we had to fight in for Harrowmont - there was no getting out of that, unfortunately, but we tried to keep the focus on the Wardens and the Blight rather than Harrowmont. Now they both have us chasing after Paragon Branka to seal the deal. We come back with her or proof of her death or proof of her favor and someone will finally take the throne."

"That sounds....really dirty. I mean, no offense, since he's your brother and all but...are you sure he's the one we should be supporting?" Alistair asked concerned.

" _That's_ dwarven politics, and Bhelan plays well. He got both me and Trian out of his way in order to take the throne. Plus, he has ties to Mirun that I didn't know about...turns out he's...Bhelan and Mirun's sister are..."

"Ahh. Isn't that...?"

"Yeah. Anyway, he's played well, and even though he's ruthless as shit, I think he really does have the future of the dwarven people in mind and at heart. We could have supported him openly, but doing it this way makes him look like a master of politics. Like he's using us, instead of us putting him on the throne. It will give him a strong power base to start from, instead of being seen as a puppet, which is good since the Wardens don't care a whit about them once the Blight is over."

"True enough. Alright then. I said I trust you in this, and I do," Andra conceded. "So where does he fit in?" She jabbed a thumb at the male dwarf.

"Oghren? He's Branka's husband, and our best chance at finding her."

"That makes sense." Alistair nodded.

"He's also a lot of fun!" Mirun added, coming back from her patrol. "I don't know where he keeps it, but somehow he's always drunk. Pretty amazing, actually."

"Aww, gee. Thanks, Mirun." Oghren chuckled.

"Where are we anyway? We were just following the path of dead darkspawn." Andra asked, looking around.

"Ortan Thaig. We've been here before, but had to go back for House Orta and supplies once we cleared the place out. Over the bridge is the entrance to the Dead Trenches."

"Right. Shall we, then?"

"Lets."

The group gathered themselves and traveled on, the few deepstalkers and spiders that showed themselves proved little problem for the four Wardens plus one highly trained dwarven warrior. They heard it long before they saw it; a huge trench in the earth, a couple hundred yards wide and far, far more than that deep. At the bottom the darkspawn massed, an incomprehensible roar echoing up to the group. Above it all the Archdemon flew, raging. It slowed, landing on a bridge - the only one to span the gap - and gave an earsplitting roar. Alistair and the dwarves covered their ears in pain, the three Wardens also squeezing their eyes shut against the echoing roar directly in their minds as they hunkered down behind an outcropping of rocks. Andra stood tall, staring at the Archdemon unflinching. The beast's head swung her direction and for a moment the two locked eyes. Then the creature flapped its enormous wings and rose in flight once more. Below, the horde began to advance, emptying.

"That was big. That was really big!" Oghren breathed. "That's what you guys are planning on fighting?"

"Yes. That's why we need all the help we can get. Do you get it now?" Sescha answered with a frown.

"Yeah. If the deshyrs could have seen that thing, you can bet they'd make up their minds. They're still thinking in terms of little darkspawn. The stuff we deal with every day."

"We'll they can't, they are, we're not, and the nobility is stupid. Always has been, always will be." Mirun grumbled.

"Andra?" Alistair asked, concerned. Andra was still staring at the spot the dragon had landed.

She turned, slowly. "Alistair...help..." Her golden eyes had turned predatory. She slowly collasped to the ground.

"By the ancestors! What's wrong with her?!" Oghren cursed, looking to Mirun and Sescha for an explaination, but the dwarven women had none to give.

"Maker, not now!" Alistair rushed to catch and cradle her to him. "Stay with us. Come on, Andra. Stay with _me._ " Her eyes drifted shut. "Dammit."


	39. Dream

The world resolves into a verdant field of golden blossoms. Purple butterflies flit from flower to flower, unconcerned with the two intruders in their field. His fingers intertwine with hers and she smiles.

_Does this please you?_

It's beautiful.

_Not as beautiful as you._

She blushes at the compliment, eyes following the play of the breeze over the flowers.

Was that really you?

_Unfortunately._

You could have forced a confrontation. You could have killed us then. You knew we were there.

_Yes._

Why didn't you?

_Must we speak of such unpleasant things?_

She simply looks at him, waiting. He sighs.

_Because my nature wars with itself. Because it isn't the time. Because I don't want to kill you. Him, maybe, but not you._

You mean Alistair.

_Yes, him. You think too highly of him. Too kindly. He is becoming a threat._

She panics and the skies turn dark and thunderous, threatening rain.

Please don't hurt him. Please. I know what he wants. He's told me. And I've told him no. I've told him that I'm yours.

His eyebrows rise in surprise.

_You told him you are Mine?_

She nods, and he pulls her closer.

_And do you mean it?_

I-

 **ANDRA**.

The voice thunders across the field like a hurricane of pure force. The butterflies have no chance against it, dispersing into puffs of purple smoke.

_Do you mean it?_

**ANDRA**.

The golden flowers explode in a shower of glitter that covers them both. She cries out in fear and clings to him. He smiles and wraps his arms around her tightly, whispering in her ear.

_Do you mean it?_

**COME BACK TO ME.**

The entire world dissolves to blackness and nothing, but she can still feel his presence around her, the only thing that remains real.

_Do you-_

**I LOVE YOU.**

She floats in the nothing, alone.


	40. Campfire Tale: Sescha Aeducan

She had been born the middle child, in every sense of the word. Her elder brother, Trian, was born to be a leader of nations and knew it from an early age. Her younger brother, Bhelan, was sweet and kind to everyone regardless of caste. Sescha was just the girl who happened to come in between them.

As an Aeducan, she had of course been given the best education possible. Initially they taught her sewing, singing, the flute, and other incredibly girlish things - things that would make her desirable as a wife. Things that she would skip out on every time she could in favor of sneaking into Trian's military training. After the fifty-third complaint (yes, they kept count) from her tutors, her father gave up, fired the feminine tutors and hired one of the Silent Sisters in their place. Oddly enough, Sescha began to show up to every lesson after that. They quickly discovered that she had an affinity for pretty much anything that could hold a blade, but favored none of them in particular.

As she grew older she was introduced to the world of dwarven politics, and quickly discovered that there wasn't a word strong enough in any language on the whole of Thedas to properly express her dislike of it. That wasn't to say that she didn't understand it - she did. She simply refused to play. Initially the deshyrs thought to make a pawn of her, using her to unwittingly advance their own agenda's, but Sescha managed to avoid it, either by cleverly pointing out the play or otherwise turning the whole thing on its head without helping out anyone else in the process. It worked well enough, and most soon learned to leave her out of their political dealings.

Everything changed the day she caught wind of a rumor that a group of the council members was floating _her_ name as a possible candidate to follow her father on the throne. It was preposterous. She was friendly enough, and she knew she was a decent warrior, but to be named heir was completely out of line. She knew she had to move fast, to get ahead of the rumor mill, but suddenly everything seemed mired in honey. She couldn't move fast enough. The rumor had already reached her father who seemed surprised, but pleased at her sudden interest in politics, announcing his intention to honor her with her first command in the near future. She turned to Trian for help, but the reception was icy cold. He, too, had heard the rumor and assumed that she wanted 'his' throne. Only Bhelan at all understood, having set aside his own ambitions long ago. And then the day of her commission came, and everything changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Beloved Readers! Its a major update with three new chapters! So here's the news: Worst: INQUISITION IS EATING MY SOUL. I <3 it ^_^. Bad: I know _exactly_ who my Inquisitor is going to be. And now they and my Hawke are both screaming for their stories to be told which is a touch distracting when I'm still trying to finish this one. Good: I have a new laptop! That means that assuming I can tear myself away from DA:I I can actually get to writing in a decent time again. Hurray! Best: I know pretty much how the rest of the story plays out - not the details, but in broad strokes, and that should help with the writing too. Anyway, I hope these made people happy and were worth the wait! The next chapter might take a week or so. I need to get it right.


	41. Gathering An Army: The Deep Roads

Andra's eyes fluttered open and she found herself sitting in Alistair's lap. "Wha-?"

"You back? Good." Alistair whispered. "You remember where you are? Who you are? Let me see your eyes."

"Um, Deep Roads...Dead Trenches. Andra Cousland, Acting Commander of the Grey," she answered just as quietly as she turned her eyes to him.

"Well, that's good at least, but your eyes haven't changed back yet. And the dwarves saw them before you went. I managed to wave them off, but now that you're awake, some explanations are in order."

"Crap."

"No kidding. Want to tell me what that was all about? Before you bullshit them?"

"I....no?"

Alistair frowned. "That isn't an option, Andra. You know that. We have to know if he's affecting you. Affecting the way you think."

"We already know the answer is yes to both. Why belabor the point?"

"Andra..."

"Fine. Urthemiel took me on a date, okay?"

"A date?!" Alistairs tone was incredulous.

"Yes."

"We just saw him in person, and he decides to take you on a date."

"Yes."

"Maker's Breath, why?"

"He said it wasn't time. And no, I don't know what that means, so don't ask. Something else came though and interrupted. I think..." Alistair looked at her questioningly, and Andra shook her head but finished the thought. "I half had this thought it was you. But it couldn't have been, right? I mean... That voice said..." Andra frowned, remembering. "It said 'I love you'. I know you're interested, but that's impossible."

Alistair's eyes grew wide, before looking away from her, mumbling something she couldn't make out.

"Alistair?"

"I didn't think you'd hear," he repeated, a hot blush going to his cheeks. He turned back, his eyes catching hers again, despite the blush. "But that doesn't mean it isn't true. I've been struggling with this for a while now, Andra. You have someone you call 'perfect' in your head. Except that he's not just in your head. He's real. He's an Old God. He calls you 'His'. And I'm just...me. How do I compete with that, Andra?" Alistair looked lost and desperate.

"You don't." Alistair nodded to himself, accepting defeat, but Andra continued. "You've already won."

"What?!"

"Your voice. It was so loud...so powerful. It blew his creations away, Alistair. I didn't even recognize it. And the last...the, um, the ‘I love you’? That blew _him_ away."

"So? You were waking up."

"I don't think I was. Not until you started talking. _You_ were more powerful than him. In my head."

"Are you saying-?"

Andra smiled softly, golden predator eyes tracking him. Alistair smoothed a strand of hair from her face, cupping her cheek lightly, before leaning forward to brush her lips with his own. Andra gasped as a spark of static arced between them and she instinctively pressed forward, deepening the kiss. Alistair's hand trailed down her neck and around her head, keeping her close as his other hand snaked around her lower back, his fingers skimming her skin causing her to shudder under his touch. Her own hands twined upwards to grasp his shoulder with one hand and curled into his blond hair with the other. In a moment the kiss went from gentle and sweet to hungry and demanding. Every ache that Urthemiel had awoken within her suddenly had the promise of being fulfilled. She shifted on his lap to straddle him, instinctively grinding her hips into his.

“Maker!” Alistair gasped, breaking the kiss. “Don’t do that!”

“Alistair,” Andra breathed hotly in his ear. “Please. I need, and I don’t even know what I it is that I need. I exist in this state of embers. I wake from dreams and the embers are a smoldering. You smile at me and it’s only kindling added to the fire. This kiss? I’m burning up, Alistair. Please. Mercy.” She finds his lips again and sucks on the lower one, tongue darting out to trace its curve, and he can’t help but groan softly into her mouth. For a moment more their tongues danced, tasted each other, but each push of his tongue was responded with a small return thrust of her hips, and once again he had to break the kiss before he lost control completely.

“Andra, shhhh, stop. Stop. We have to stop. I want this. Maker knows I do! But not here. Not in the Deep Roads. Please. You deserve better than a dirt bed and muffled cries. Can you wait? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

The Lady Cousland couldn’t verbally answer him, her desire too strong and her will too weak. She nodded and looked away, sliding off his lap in a pool of shame. ‘ _Hold that thought, Andra. Hold it tight. We’ll go to the meeting and get it over with as quickly as possible. Then we’ll finish this…discussion of ours._ ’ The memory of Duncan’s broken promise echoed in Andra’s mind, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. That was, of course, the moment Mirun chose to make an appearance.

“Oh, you’re back with us are you, Commander? Good. Sescha and Oghren have questions. I really don’t care,” the tough little dwarf shrugged, “but they do.” Mirun jabbed a thumb at the two dwarves in question.

Oghren’s eyes grew slightly rounded as he saw the Andra was awake, where Sescha frowned. Both came closer, but it was Sescha who spoke first.

“So, what’s the deal, Commander? I think we have the right to know who – or what – we’re following.”

Andra let out the breath she’d been holding. It wasn’t the accusation she’d feared. “It happened at the Joining. Avernus says it’s because there was a Blight already on and I’ve got some strangeness in my history, but that’s Avernus’ theories. What matters is that somehow I got a deeper connection to the Archdemon than the rest of you. You get dreams. We all do. Mine are just a little more real. And happen to turn my eyes funny colors.” She shrugged, trying to pass it off. “Alistair has known about it the whole time. That’s why he’s been travelling with me. To keep an eye on me and take over if he needed to.”

Sescha and Mirun nodded, chewing over the information in their minds.

“Fair enough. As long as it’s known.” Sescha finally conceded.

With that, the group gathered their things and crossed the huge bridge. As they neared the other side, the sounds of battle began to reach them, and as one they picked up their pace. Soon they saw a group of dwarves dressed in black armor battling a huge ogre and several other darkspawn. Without hesitation, the Wardens and their dwarven friend joined the others, and it didn’t take long to bring the hulking beast down.

“Atrast vala, Wardens. We were not expecting reinforcements of any kind this far in.”

Sescha stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Atrast vala, Legionnaire. I’m afraid we have further to go yet. The deshyrs have us hunting for Paragon Branka to choose their next king.”

“Branka?! You may as well search for the Anvil of Despair itself!” The Legionnaire shook his head in disgust. “With no king, we have no orders. But what do Wardens care about such things? Unless…?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sescha nodded. “There is a Blight on the surface. But it should give you and your men to reclaim more of the Deep Roads than we have in an Age. And a respite from your task. You’ve more than earned it.”

“Ancestors guide you, Wardens. You’re going to need it.”

The tunnels beyond led them to an ancient burial site. That was when they first heard the soft voice.

“ _First day, they come and catch everyone..._ ”

“Did anyone else hear that?” Alistair asked, concern in his voice. Everyone nodded, including Oghren. “Oh good, I’m not going crazy then.”

The darkspawn still infested the tunnels, though not as thickly as they might have. The voice still echoed, soft, calm, and utterly terrifying.  
 _“Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat…”_

The terrain was growing less rocking and more organic. Tendrils of flesh seemed to grow from the walls themselves, and squelched underfoot, oozing a reddish-blackish liquid as it did so. The smell became more decayed as well, like rotting meat, somehow sweet and putrid at the same time. Worse, there seemed to be only one path forward. They were being guided.

“ _Now she does feast, as she's become the beast.”_

The group turned a corner of the catacombs and came face to face with the owner of the voice. A dwarven woman, blonde and buxom, but her skin was unnaturally pale and blotchy. As Andra carefully closed the distance between them to examine the woman more closely, she spoke again, her voice measured.

 _“First day, they come and catch everyone_  
Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat  
 _Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._  
 _Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._  
 _Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._  
 _Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._  
 _Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._  
 _Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._  
 _Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._  
 _Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._  
 _Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams._ ”

Andra glanced at her companions. Alistair seemed disturbed but was taking her words in stride. Mirun looked horrified. Sescha’s face had lost all color as she stared, open mouthed, at the woman before her.

Oghren’s brows furrowed in thought. “Hespith? What happened to you? To Branka?”

“Only what was allowed to happen. I was her captain, and I did not stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her... but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become.”

“And what is that?” Andra asked quietly.

“She has become obsessed, that is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there is nothing left in her but the Anvil.”

“That….that poem. What… what is it?” Sescha managed.

“It is how I remember. The only way I can. It's why they hate us... it's why they need us. It's why they take us.... it's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed _._ Go and see for yourself.” With that, the woman dashed away, half running from them, half leading them.

There was yet another tunnel, this one with many openings, through which the darkspawn appeared as if by magic. The group had no trouble with the genlocks, alpha or otherwise, and for a moment they were given room to breathe. Then Mirun pointed, raising her twin axes in alarm. Advancing on the Wardens was a Hurlock unlike any they had ever seen. It was ancient – its armor a testament to time. It’s muscles bulged angrily as it wielded a huge war hammer. Across its helm was a black splatter. Sescha cried out wordlessly at the sight, her greataxe raised in two shaking hands. The thing opened its mouth and _laughed._

Andra and Alistair ran toward it as one, shields raised high and swords cutting underneath. Oghren let out a bellow and also charged, his huge sword whistling through the air. Mirun had disappeared. After the three warriors thoroughly had its attention, her axes suddenly clanged uselessly off its back armor. Sescha alone remained where she was, a living statue. Alistair’s sword found a weak spot in the old armor and punched through, setting the spawn to howling. Its hammer crashed downwards towards Alistair who only just stepped out of the way in time. Mirun was in the gap in an instant, the wicked edge of her axes cutting deep into any weakness she found. It batted her away, only to find Oghren literally climbing its leg, his sword having gotten stuck in one of the thing’s armor joints. With a growl the ancient darkspawn spun, flinging its attackers in every direction. Before they could recover and begin again, it was gone.

Panting, Andra picked herself up and checked on the others. Everyone seemed to be okay, but Sescha was exactly where she had been before, trembling. “Sescha...? It’s over. It’s gone.”

“It knows. It _remembers,”_ she hissed. Now that Andra was closer, she could see the whites around the entirely of Sescha’s eyes.

“Calm down. Remembers what?”

“Me.” Finally Sescha dropped her weapon, blinking rapidly. “Let’s get out of here. Never thought I’d say this, but I want to get back to the surface as quickly as possible.”

With the others shrugging to themselves, they continued on. It was only a little more until they reached their obvious intended destination. Hespith’s voice rang out once again. Just one word, but it was more than enough.

“ ** _Broodmother_** _._ ”

The broodmother was abhorrent. There was no other word for it. Calling it a monstrosity was too kind by far. The knowledge of its creation was almost too much, and for a long moment the Wardens simply stared in horror at the giant mound of writhing pink flesh before them. And then the first of the tentacles attacked at the battle was pitched. Things happened so fast, Andra couldn’t follow it all. She focused her own attacks on the broodmother itself, trusting the others to keep the tentacles off of her. At one point she knew that the mother had called its spawn to her as suddenly there were far too many bodies in the room, and half of them were genlocks. Somewhere she thought she heard Sescha call for help but at that moment the broodmother had captured her with one slimy tentacle around her waist and was trying desperately to spew poison in her face. Oghren came to the rescue with a well timed chop from his sword. At another point she saw Mirun picked up by one of them and thrown bodily against the opposite wall, but gamely, the rogue dwarf wobbled to her feet and wadded back in. The next thing she knew Alistair was on the broodmother’s back, and buried his sword to the hilt into her spine at the base of her neck. One by one the tentacles flailed their last, then flagged as the death twitches came to a halt. One then did he retrieve his sword and jump down.

“That was-“ He started.

“-too many damned boobs-” Oghren cut in.

“-Absolutely the most disgusting-“ Andra nodded in agreement.

“Where’s Sescha?” Mirun asked.

Alarmed, the four looked around the room – even going to far as to lift the corpse and make sure she wasn’t underneath. She wasn’t. At the very back of the room, Mirun found a new path that would lead them on. Sescha’s axe lay haphazardly nearby, the hilt slick with blood. That was when they heard the first scream. The path beyond was not simple, not meant to guide. It was a labyrinth with twists and turns and offshoots meant to deceive and conceal. Hespith was not helping, from wherever she was hiding.

“ _Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._ ”

Mirun and Oghred took the lead, but even their ‘stone-sense’ failed – the Stone was simply too Tainted here. More screams followed, lending a further urgency to their mission that was wholly unnecessary, and those were far more muffled.

“ _Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew_ ,” the poetess offered helpfully. Andra felt sick.

As the minutes passed and turned from fifteen to half an hour to an hour, the group quickly became more and more frustrated, Mirun most of all. At one point they could make out words.

“No! Please. No more. Please. I can’t…AUGH” It was followed by the same dark laugh they had heard made by the ancient darkspawn they had encountered before. Mirun screeched in rage.

“ _Eighth day, we hated as she is violated_.”

“Yes, thank you Hespith. We get the idea!” Andra called out angrily.

“Oh for the love of….” Oghren growled, and bashed his sword against a fleshy membrane. To everyone’s surprise, it tore. There before their eyes was something far worse than the Broodmother.

Sescha was on her knees, naked. What they could see of her skin was scratched, bloodied and bruised.  Beneath her an alpha hurlock tightly gripped her hips and thrust uncontrollably into her. Behind her, another held her arms in place behind her back, and also thrust into her - there was only one place he could be going. Standing, just in front of her was the ancient one.  Sescha's mouth hung open at an odd angle and those viewing instantly knew her jaw had been broken.  The darkspawn chuckled again, grasping her hair and pressing himself to her face. Surrounding them were half a dozen more darkspawn, clearly waiting their turn, impatiently. It (he?) looked up, a feral grin on his face. There was a flash in its hand and Sescha’s throat was a bloom of color. She fell away from it, though the other two continue to work her, as if it didn't matter.  It laughed.

“No!” Mirun gasped.

“Nug shit!” cursed Oghren.

Alistair looked at Andra. Andra looked at the darkspawn and blinked, stunned. Then she blinked again, angry. She blinked once more, and she was utterly furious – her eyes having once more gone predatory. She stalked forward, a deadly grace to her step.

“ **How dare you.** ” Her voice seemed to echo and drip off the walls. The lesser darkspawn scrambled to get out of her way.

“ **How do you not recognize your master’s touch?** ” She paused and seemed to listen. The ancient darkspawn growled softly, but held its head proudly.

She reached forward to touch its breastplate as she spoke again, “ **Die.** ” It did, without a sound, crumpling at her feet. She stepped over it to reach Sescha’s body, and pulled it away from the darkspawn who dared not contradict her, cradling her dwarven friend to her, before rejoining the others.

“ **We should go.** ”

Silently, the three others followed her. No darkspawn followed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Maker, I hope I did her justice.


	42. Gathering An Army: The Anvil of the Void

Deep in the tunnels beyond the cavern, Andra collapsed without a sound between one step and the next. At first Alistair thought that she had fallen unconscious once more and rushed to her side, only to find her mutely sobbing – shoulders trembling in grief. Alistair pulled her upright, examining her face. It was dry of tears, and her eyes were once again normal, but the pain in them spoke volumes.

 _‘My fault,’_ she mouthed wordlessly, unable to even speak.

“No. I’m pretty sure we all heard her call for help. That _thing_ …if we’d tried, it would have killed us instead. There wasn’t anything to be done, Commander,” Mirun offered. “I traveled with her before we Joined. Remember that she was Tainted, kind of like you? She’d been- well, let’s just say this wasn’t the first time. But before, if she hadn’t gotten away, she’d have become one of those _broodmothers_.” She shuddered at the thought.

“Maybe it was her destiny. If so, I’d say the Stone was kind to let her die at its hands instead of turning…” Oghren added, pulling out a flask and taking a swig before passing it to Andra. Her hand shook as she reached for the bottle, and Alistair had to help before the container was dropped between them. A large gulp steadied her somewhat, and a second bolstered her to a sitting position. She took a shaky breath.

“Is there…anything we can do for her? We aren’t exactly in a position to take her home, but…”

Mirun looked helplessly at Oghren. She was casteless; dusters like her were lucky if they weren’t just dumped into the nearest lava pit. Oghren nodded and began gathering loose rocks to form a cairn over Sescha’s broken body. Once the others saw what he was about, they quickly joined in, and soon the last stone was in place.

“Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc. Sescha Aeducan of the Grey Wardens, Stone take you into her embrace,” Oghren intoned.

“That’s very sweet. If you’re done…I suspect you’re here looking for me?” The unknown voice made them all jump, reaching for weapons.

“By my ancestors! Branka?” Oghren proclaimed in amazement.

“Oghren. I should have figured you’d show up eventually. And you – I suppose Endrin has finally died and they want a Paragon to sort out who will be the next King? And you’re the one playing messenger.”

“Watch your tongue woman! These are the Grey Wardens!”

“Oh! So an important errand boy then,” Branka sighed huffily. “Very well. I will return with you, but I must reach the Anvil first. It’s so close I can taste it!”

Andra had had enough dwarven games. “So you want something. Who doesn’t?” She asked drily. “You’ve already sacrificed your entire house, turned your people into darkspawn and worse, and for what? This Anvil of yours? I doubt a chunk of metal is worth it, but if that’s what it takes then fine. You and I can settle _accounts_ later. Point the way.”

The Paragon looked startled, but did as requested, speaking of ancient traps that Paragon Caridin had set in place long ago to protect his creation. Her ranting did nothing to soften Andra’s opinion of the woman.

“You actually married her? Intentionally?” she asked Oghren at one point as they waited for Mirun to disarm the next set of traps.

“Yeah…she was always a bit soft between the ears, but a real firebrand between the sheets, know what I mean?”

“No. You do realize she’s insane, right? I mean, she turned her people into that….There’s no forgiving that, Oghren. I can’t.”

“Just give her a chance, Warden! Maybe if she sees the Anvil it will clear her head some.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

One by one the traps were disarmed, the gauntlet run, and always with Branka trailing at a safe distance behind them. Finally the space opened to a massive cavern, with an enormous golem standing in the center of it.

“My name is Caridin. Once, longer ago that I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar,” the golem greeted us. “If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story or be doomed to repeat it.”

Andra rolled her eyes. “Seriously? I don’t. I need a king for the throne. They need a Paragon’s endorsement, because they can’t make up their minds. She, on the other hand…” and here Andra pointed to the door where Branka was lurking, “Rather desperately wants your Anvil. But she’s nuts. Help me out and you and your Anvil can go back to living in the dark or whatever it is you want to do. Say no and I have to go with Plan B over there.”

In that moment, as Caridin said “Very well,” Branka shouted “NO!” and ran forward. Mirun let out a curse and tackled the lunatic, sending some cylinder skittering to Caridin’s feet.

“What is this? A control rod? No.” He stepped on it, crushing it under his mass before stomping forward and peering down at Branka.

“You are not the only Master Smith here, Caridin,” she spat at him as Mirun bound her in place.

“Perhaps not, but you are no Master - the Anvil is yours. I will free you from it.” He stood and turned to Andra. “Would a crown for your chosen king suffice? After which, you must destroy the Anvil. As a golem, I cannot.”

Andra nodded. The golem set to work. An hour later a weighty crown of pure gold, structured in dwarven design was placed in her hands. Alistair, having far more muscle than she did, hefted the hammer that Caridin had been using. Branka tried one more time, “Think about what you’re doing! You could have a golem army at your beck and call! The dwarves could be your allies and it would _mean_ something. We could reclaim what was ours and push the darkspawn back further than ever before! And you’re just going to throw that away?”

Andra’s eyes narrowed as she spun on Branka. “A golem army, you say? And what is the cost? An entire House fed to the darkspawn by someone they trusted. Someone who should have protected them. No. You added to the darkspawn problem, Branka. You intentionally created broodmothers, who create more darkspawn. Those darkspawn will grow to attack Orzammar or the surface. They will kill tens if not hundreds of your own people. But you don’t care as long as you get your _bloody Anvil_. Your army cannot counteract the damage you have already done, Branka. Nevermind making a dent in the problem.” She deliberately turned her back on the dwarven Paragon, and watched as Alistair raised the hammer high before bringing it crashing down, splitting the Anvil in twain. Branka cried out as if the act had physically pained her. Caridin watched the exchange in silence. “I’m no dwarf. Whatever you desire to do, Caridin, and whatever punishment you see fitting, she is yours.” As Andra walked away and the others quickly joined her, she heard Caridin’s voice echo back to her.

“Branka, you are gangue, and the Stone will _never_ accept you back. Worse, you did this to yourself. I doubt She will accept me either, for although they are different, my sins are no less than yours.” His voice lifted, “Atrast nal tunsha, strangers. May you always find your way in the dark.”

When Oghren looked back, they were both gone. Andra rubbed her eyes, tired. “Mirun, you’re already known to them. I’m going to need you to take point on this. At least at first. I can step in if you give me a suitably dramatic entrance or something.”

“Sure thing, Commander. I mean, Sescha was the one doing all the talking, but I know the plan, and I picked up a few things. We’re going to have to spend the night down here somewhere though. Can’t make it all the way back in one trip. And that’s pushing it. It would be better if we did it two.”

“Whatever you guys think is best.”

Mirun and Alistair glanced at each other, worried. With a motion for Alistair to catch up to Oghren, Mirun hung back with Andra.

“Hey, Commander. Andra. I don’t mean to pry, but…you okay?”

“Yeah, sure, peachy.” Andra let out a short unhappy laugh, before sighing and shaking her head. “I’m just tired. There’s just so much. Everyone wants- ahh. You don’t want to listen to me whine. I’m fine, Mirun. Sorry.”

“Hey, its okay. Sometimes you gotta de-stress, right? And sometimes its GIRLS ONLY, ya know?”

A smile tugged at Andra’s face. “Fine. Everyone wants something from us. From me. It’s all on my shoulders. And I know I took it on, I mean, that’s what I agreed to, but…I couldn’t save her. And everyone’s looking to me for all the answers. What if I can’t save anyone? You saw my eyes. You know. What if I can’t even save myself? Even he- it wants something. Even Alistair wants something. You can only give so much before you break, you know? Ug. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“I do. I get it,” Mirun nodded along as she spoke. “I didn’t know about Alistair, but somehow that doesn’t surprise me. You should go for it, you two look good together. And I don’t know what ‘he-it’ is. But the rest? It’s the world. Can’t get something for nothing. And even though you’ve been trying to play - ‘I do your favor and I get support for the war against the Blight’ – it isn’t really fair. They’ve all been getting something, you’ve been getting nothing, personally I mean. You haven’t had a chance for anything to really sink in like the rest of us, just running from one fire to the next. No wonder you’re getting run down. Look. There’s a thing coming up. It’s on your Chantry calendars too. Why don’t you pull everyone back to Soldiers Peak and we’ll all take a break after this is over.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean-“

“Yes. In fact, I demand it. Dwarven holy day, or some shit like that.”

Andra sighed again, but was smiling as she did so. “So be it. I….” She broke off in midsentence and midstride, standing stock still. “Ah.”

“Andra?”

“That explains a bit. I, um…It’s my monthly.” She blushed furiously.

“Oh. Right. I’ll get the packs from the boys.”

Four days later, as cramps had rather thoroughly slowed Andra’s hiking speed, the group made their way into the deshyrs’ council chamber as Bhelen Aeducan and Lord Harrowmont continued to bicker over the throne like small children. There was a gasp as the doors swung open to reveal Andra’s group, led by Mirun.

“Wardens, what news do you bring?" asked the council leader, as his eyes searched the party for Sescha.

"We bring a crown, forged by Paragon Caridin for his chosen king," Mirun proclaimed loudly. "Caridin was trapped in the body of a golem, and forged this crown in thanks for giving him the release he sought. Chosen by the ancestor's themselves! One of our own fell to bring this crown to you. I hope you'll honor it, as you're meant to." Mirun presented the crown as she spoke, and the council leader examined it closely.

"This crown is of ancient make and bears House Ortan's ancient seal. Tell us, Wardens: whom did Caridin choose?"

Mirun took a breath. "Caridin chose to honor the Aeducan's once more."

Bhelen nearly crowed in triumph as a collective gasp of surprise rose around the chamber.

"At last. This farce is ended and I can take my rightful place on my father's throne," Bhelen proclaimed. He stepped forward to accept the crown from the council members. Harrowmont's head hung in defeat, as he realized how many of the deshyrs' accepted Bhelen's bid without hesitation.

"Let the Memories find you worthy, first admist the lords of the houses, the king of Orzammar."

"Do you acknowledge me as king?" Bhelen asked Harrowmont.

Quietly Harrowmont nodded. "I... cannot defy a Paragon. The throne is yours... King Bhelen."

"Then, as my first act as King, I call for this man's execution!" Bhelen roared. The Wardens stood to one side, not interfering. "Wardens, thank you for all you _assistance_ in this matter. I will return to the palace imediately to gather my generals and prepare our forces for the surface. We will meet you there."

Quietly, the group, plus one highly disgraced dwarf returned to the surface. All breathed a sigh of relief as the sky came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc.” - Words of a formal dwarven rite for the dead. The first sentence is literally “May you always find your way in the dark.” The second is something about ceasing your duty.


	43. Campfire Tales: Mirun Brosca

Mirun was a Duster, through and through. She’d never met her father, he’d left for the surface shortly after she’d been born. A few years later her mother had taken up with some handsome young man from the mining caste but when Rica had been born a female, and thus also casteless, the whole family had been dropped like so much hot slag. Her mother had despaired, and taken to drinking more and more, leaving five-year-old Mirun to play the part of mother to her sister.

Not that it had far to go, but life went downhill from there. She worked as a messenger runner for the carta as soon as she was old enough, and slowly worked her way up into the graces of some of the carta’s thieves who taught her bits and pieces of what they knew in their spare time. The rest she figured out on her own. Her lithe frame allowed her access to places most other dwarves couldn’t access, and her ability to disappear from under the noses for the marketplace guards served her well on more than one occasion. Rice, on the other hand, was going up far, far too pretty, and it was earning her more attention than either of them needed. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Beraht noticed her too and took a ‘special interest’ in her. Eager to please her big sister and ease some of the family’s burden, Rica was only too happy to take the lessons offered.

Mirun hated it. The only thing that Rica’s enthusiasm did was further indebt her family to Beraht and the carta, and her mother dark away whatever small amount the two of them managed to save for themselves. Her only solace was a friend and sometimes-lover, Leske. Worse, she knew exactly what Rica was being trained for and it wouldn’t be long before she became a noble-hunter and men who had no actual interest in her sister would be burying themselves between her legs. It was disgusting, but it was one of the very few ways that a casteless could improve their lot in life – and the fact that Beraht would be dragged along with them just made it worse. She’d heard stories of the surface from the carta’s suppliers – stories of how different the surface was. A place where there were no castes, where a person was judged by their character, and not where they were born. If it hadn’t been for Rica she would have followed in her father’s footsteps long ago. As it was, she felt trapped by circumstance. And then Beraht pushed too far, and everything changed.


	44. Feast Day

Returning to Soldiers Peak was nothing so much as a breath of fresh of air – a return to a place the Warden’s called ‘home’ as much as any place was. There were introductions to and for Oghren all around. Andra left Alistair to check up with Sten on how the troops were coming along while she met with Levi and sent out several missives recalling her fellow Wardens back to the Peak. One by one, over the course of a couple of weeks, they returned. Oddly it was Voxum and Leliana who were last to return, Feast Day morning, despite being closest – only in Denerim.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, dove,” Voxum smiled at Alistair as she strode through the gates. “I hope you didn’t miss me too badly?” She was wearing a tight forming fitting leather armor that left little to the imagination as she raked her eyes over his form.

“Uh, well…” he started, a distinct redness beginning to creep up from his collar.

The elf sauntered closer to him, a distinct sway to her hips. “You did? I do hope it wasn’t too _hard_ a wait?”

“N-no. Yes. I mean…” Alistair stuttered, the red making its way up his neck to his ears.

“Voxum! You will give poor Alistair a heart attack if you keep on this way,” Leliana chided with a chuckled. “Besides, we must tell him about Elric Maraigne.”

“Oh poo,” the first woman pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“I can be lots of fun, as you well know,” the bard countered.

“Wait! Who is this Elric person?” Alistair interrupted.

“Someone we met on the way here. He was part of King Cailan’s honor guard, but due to circumstance ended up in Bann Loren’s lands with a key to the Royal Chest in Ostagar that Cailan meant to give to Duncan. Now we have it,”

Leliana answered.

“We could go back to Ostagar? Retrieve his things? Maybe put him and Duncan to rest? That’s….that would be…” Unable to articulate further, but overcome with emotion he rushed forward and crushed first Leliana and then Voxum into a massive hug. “Thank you.”

“Alistair I- oh.” Andra came down the stairs as he pulled away from Voxum, whose smile was all too broad. Andra’s eye’s narrowed slightly, but she otherwise chose to ignore it. “Leliana, Voxum, you’re back. Did you get my message about Genitivi?”

“Yes. Can we come in first or do we have to give you the full report out here?” the city elf griped.

“What? Oh, yes of course.”

The four headed inside. Andra immediately vanished with a wave of her hand, and Voxum and Leliana were left to bathe and otherwise get comfortable after their roadtrip. The rest of the day the most her companions saw of Andra was her dashing from one room to another, or a secretive smile as she spoke quietly to the kitchen staff. When dinner was served, they all piled into the main hall, only to find a surprise waiting for them. Most of the tables had been pushed to the walls, leaving one in the center. That one had been piled high with every manner of food – venison, nug meat, potatoes and beans, nuts and sweets and tiny frilly cakes, and of course good wine, ale, and mead. Standing next to it Andra was dressed in casual finery rather than the armor of the road. For once her hair had been let down from its bun to curl gently around her shoulders. She smiled broadly as she took in her companions expressions.

“Happy Feast Day!”

Andra showed each of her stunned companions to their seats. Next to each seat were two presents, but the mouth-watering smell of the food was overwhelming and soon everyone was stuffing their faces and telling about their various adventures both recent and in the distant past with much laughter. Leliana and Voxum spoke of their mischief in Denerim in conjuction with a man named Slim Couldry who was anything but. Morrigan told of her time spent in the Korcari Wilds. Oghren managed to slur out something about pink nugs in frilly dresses and dancing shoes. Even Sten, stoic as ever shared a few tales of the stumbling of his recruits that set the table roaring. As the meal wound down, Andra stood, lifting her mug to a single empty chair.

“I’m afraid I have to ruin the mood for a moment. Can we raise our glasses in memory to the first of us new recruits who has fallen to the Fifth Blight? For although you have fallen, Warden Sescha Aeducan, to the shadows that hunt us, we know that someday we shall join you.” She took a long draught of her mead before closing her eyes in pain. When Andra opened them again, she met the others, and more than one pair was gleaming bright. “Shall we move on to the gifts?”

There was a hurried round of nods and Andra eagerly looked to Sten to start things off. He did so with a small oddly shaped package that turned out to be an intricately carved wooden totem. A smile flitted across his mouth before his gruff and nonchalant thanks did. One by one they each opened a package in turn. Leliana received a pair of beautiful shoes. Zevran got a pair of boots made of Antivan leather. Wynne was gifted a book on magic rescued from the Tower. Oghren unwrapped and immediately drank a sack of Chasind Mead. Morrigan discovered her first gift to be a beautiful golden mirror. Alistair’s gift was a black and silver runestone. Voxum was given a pair of handcuffs, the insides of which were padded for comfort – the grin on her face was positively cat-like. Osane received an ancient text that would further her healing abilities. Isallin was given a small vial of dark red liquid. The breath that caught in her throat was second only to the heartfelt thanks in eyes as she ceremonially threw the phylactery to the ground to shatter it. Mirun was given an absolutely beautiful set of lockpicks that were made of dragonbone, and thus practically unbreakable. Only Vena didn’t have two gifts. She reached tentatively for the one she had, before being stopped.

“Wait, wait. I didn’t want….” Andra grinned and ran to a side door, coming back with something small and wiggling. It _yipped_ , and Vena saw it and the same time as everyone else. A tiny wolf pup, half snowy white and half black as night, as if someone had drawn a line down the poor thing’s back.

“Where did you….why would you think I would want such a thing?” Vena frowned.

“It showed up here while we were waiting for Vox and Leli. I think it was supposed to be all black but the cold…” Andra shrugged. “I thought it would please you, not to kill a pup. If I was mistaken, I’m sorry. I can find something else…”

“No!” Vena answered a little too quickly, her arms snatching out to take the cub from Andra. The wolf cub whined once, sniffed the Dalish woman, then let out a huge yawn and promptly fell asleep in her hands. A soft smile played on Vena’s lips. “Da’fen.”

Andra smiled in delight. “Dafen it is. I couldn’t tell…Is Dafen a boy or a girl?”

Daintily, so as to not disturb the sleeping wolf, Vena lifted the pup’s tail. “Not Dafen, Da’fen, and she’s a girl.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

The second set of presents were less wonderful, but far more in theme with the pranking side of Feast Day, much to the displeasure of the receiver, but to the great amusement of everyone watching. Voxum was given a binding bra while Wynne was given a pair of darning needles and a book on ‘How to fix holes in socks’. Vena opened her present to find a pair of Orlesian dancing shoes. Sten was given a sword that was literally went limp in his hands and Isallin was given a mages book on ‘Living with Templars’. Morrigan received a copy of the Chant. Leliana received a pair of boots as ugly as the previous shoes were pretty. Osane was given an ‘herbalist’ kit that contained nothing but rotting onions and spoiled elfroots. Zevran was given a male chastity belt. Mirun was given a book on Dwarven politics. Oghren was given a quill and a capped bottle of ink. This confused everyone until Andra, eyes dancing, glanced to Mirun and tapped her cheek. Mirun squealed and pounced the dwarven man. Drunk as he was from his earlier present, the poor man didn’t have a chance and within a few minutes had been ‘branded’ as a duster. At last, Andra’s mischievous eyes turned to Alistair who brought his rather large box-shaped gift onto the table with a certain amount of trepidation. The other’s riveted their attention to him with gleeful insubordination. As if he would find a demon inside, Alistair unwrapped the box and opened the lid.

“What in the-?!“

Andra, unable to hold back any longer, snorted. “Go on, Alistair. You have to show everyone.”

“The Void I do! What is that?”

“You said! You made a promise!”

“What?! When?” Alistair demanded, but Andra was too far collapsed in her fit of giggles to answer. Unwilling, Alistair pulled the…. _thing_ ….out of the box. The monstrosity was a light blue, and layers upon layers of silk – a plunging neckline and a daring seam at the waist.

Leliana gasped. “I don’t understand? It is a very pretty dress, Andra but why would you give such a thing to Alistair?”

“To…to…to-“ Andra panted, unable to finish.

Voxum’s eyes suddenly lit up as she understood the reference. “To **_DANCE THE REMIGOLD!_** ”

There was a beat of silence and as one the Warden women collapsed in a fit of laughter and tears while the others looked on in confusion. Alistair simply stood there, blushing crimson from head to toe.

“You said! You said if it was a pretty dress! You promised!”

“Up and down the darkspawn line!”

“Anything to defeat the Blight!”

“Put it on!”

“Dance for us!”

“What? But I- That was just- You can’t be serious! Besides there’s no music!” Alistair sputtered.

“Oh, I can help with that I think,” Leliana chimed in, a grin on her face as she held up her lute and plucked a few notes.

“Not helping!”

“Go on, Alistair. Or would you have it be said that the Wardens go back on their given word?” Morrigan teased.

“Of course not! I just- Ugh.” He had been beaten. Disgusted he threw the dress on over his clothes, hoping to tear the delicate fabrics, but Andra had planned well, and the fit was loose enough for his large shoulders and still managed to seem to conform to him. The color complimented him surprisingly well. Leliana struck up the first few chords and the man took his place, his cheeks burning as he began the dance. Voxum clapped to keep time, and soon the others followed suit, cheering him on. Oghren, forgetting himself, joined in after the first reel, and a bit later so did most every else, Sten and Vena being the notable exceptions. Andra found herself at Alistair’s side.

“You are going to _pay_ for this,” he hissed in her ear.

“Oh?”

“Oh yes.”


	45. Feast Night

The first to fall was Oghren, sliding drunkenly under the table and letting out a large snore. It didn’t take long for the others to follow suit, Voxum and Leliana leaving hand in hand. Alistair, long relieved of his ridiculous dress, followed Andra to her room. She smiled wistfully at him.

“Goodnight, Alistair.”

“If you’d like,” Alistair replied. Andra raised an eyebrow in question. “Well, you gave everyone else presents, but no one got you anything.”

“Being with everyone was enough of a present for me.”

Alistair’s voice turned husky. “What about being with me?”

“You mean…?” Andra breathed. Alistair nodded, stepping forward and trapping her against the door. “Oh, Alistair, we talked about this. I can’t. We…he…”

“Yes, we did. In the Deep Roads. You were ready but I stopped us because you deserved better. Are you telling me you’ve reconsidered? That you don’t want this? You don’t want me? Because I haven’t changed my mind, Andra.”

Andra’s heart pounded in her chest so hard she was sure Alistair could feel it. “I only dream of you Alistair.”

He bent to kiss her then, letting his lips gently massage hers. Andra whimpered and rose on her toes to meet him and push the kiss harder. His hands dropped to her waist, pulling her into him gratefully, as hers rose to wrap around his neck. They broke for air and Alistair’s eyes searched hers for any last sign of hesitation. There was none. He opened to door to her room and pushed her inside with a smile, closing and locking it behind them.

She was on him again in a second, the ache in her body finally having the possibility of release. Their teeth clashed as Andra met him open mouthed, but she hardly cared, too interested in the _taste_ of Alistair, and he of her. Her hands slid under his tunic, desperate to touch skin, and Alistair let out a low rumble of pleasure as she skimmed over his taut muscles. Her kisses slid to his chin and up his jawline as his found their way to her neck. She shivered under him with a hissed breath and Alistair smirked, kissing the spot again, lighter than before. Andra whined into his ear and pressed her body closer to him. Step by step they found their way to her bed as Andra got too frustrated with the clothing between them, tugging at his shirt helplessly. Alistair laughed, a low chuckle, and shed the tunic before helping her out of her dress. As her full creamy breasts were revealed the laughter died in his throat.

“Maker, you’re beautiful.”

Andra crawled over the bedspread, blushing furiously. “You are the handsome one, Alistair. Carved from marble.” Her eyes trailed over him. She discovered that her fingers were jealous of her own eyes; she didn’t even know body parts could do that, but there it was.

Alistair followed her across the bed like a cat, his pants noticeably tented. “C’mere.” And she was in his arms again, straddling him much as she had in the Deep Roads, but with significantly less clothing - only her smalls, his pants and whatever was beneath them. Andra leaned in for another kiss and Alistair granted it happily. Just as before, her hips ground into his of their own accord, but this time, with so many less layers and him so much more aroused, the effect was vastly different. Andra gasped as a tingle shot through her nether region and up her spine, throwing her head back and tightening her grip into his broad shoulders. Alistair instantly moved to support her, even as he bent to pepper kisses on her bosom.

“A-ah-Alistair…” she moaned quietly. He smiled into her skin and sought out a light pink nipple, running his tongue over the very tip of it as his hips jutted forward again. Her moan was not as quiet the second time. Alistair’s hand found its way to the space between them and into her smalls. The curled hair he found there was soaked as he worked to slide his fingers between her folds.

“You’re so wet, Andra. Is that for me, love? Tell me that’s for me,” Alistair whispered hotly.

“For y-you. O-oh-oh-only you,” Andra managed. “Aoh!” Her brows furrowed and rose at the same time as Alistair found the spot he was seeking and she was beyond words. For several seconds his calloused fingers plied her sensitive nub alone, and then he allowed his index finger to dip backwards into her slit as his thumb continued to rub circles around her nub. Even so, he made sure not to press too deeply. Andra cried out again, her hands restless on his shoulders, her lips seeking purchase anywhere they could find skin. Within her a tingling heat began to build, curling its way up her spine and down to her toes, and just before it got wherever it was going Alistair withdrew his hand from her, leaving her empty and wanting.

“Ngh! Alistair! Please!” Andra voice was broken.

“Your smalls are in the way. So are mine.” Alistair’s voice was nearly as bad, and she realized that as lost as she’d been in his touch, she had yet to touch him at all. Fingers flew and what little clothing remained vanished into a heap on the floor. Andra took a moment to stare, golden eyes wide in appreciation for the proud and thick male member before her. The tip glistened and she had a sudden urge to taste it. Taste him. Her eyes flicked to his to find Alistair’s filled with worry at being rejected at the last second. That, more than anything, decided it for her, and she pushed him backwards until her head could comfortably fit in his lap before she hesitantly ran her tongue over his slit.

“Ooaahhshit! Warn a guy, love!”

Andra jerked back, looking to him, worriedly. “I’m sorry! Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry!”

“What? No. Nooo. That felt- that was- wow. But we’re both so tightly wound….” Alistair held out a hand to her. “I just wasn’t expecting it, love. If you’re really willing to do that for me…”

Andra nodded, reassured, and Alistair resettled, legs spread but still sitting so he could watch her. Andra moved back to him and touched him gently.

“Oh! It’s soft!” she said surprised.

“I assure you it’s not.” Alistair laughed.

“No I mean,” Andra blushed again and he admired that the blush flushed her breasts and ass as well, “It’s well, velvety. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought it would just feel like skin, you know? But it’s different.” He nodded and she smiled before darting out her tongue to taste him again, causing him to groan again. Slowly she ran her tongue along the under vein from base to tip, tracing the ridge that separated the tip from the shaft which caused him to thrust at her. At last she pulled him into her mouth, just a little at a time, a sweet torture for Alistair as inch after inch disappeared into her mouth. Only when she had as much as she could take – nearly all of him, to his surprise – did she hollow her cheeks and _suck_. As she did she began the agonizing process of pulling him out of her mouth, just as slow as the reverse. And then she did it again. After the third time Alistair was forced to pull her off of him, or risk losing himself to her mouth alone.

“Maker’s breath, love. I thought you’d never done this before?” Andra shook her head in affirmation. Alistair was hoarse with want. “I need you, my love. Are you…?”

Andra let out a mewl of her own desire and Alistair flipped them, trapping her beneath him. Her legs spread automatically to allow him to slide between them. Reverently, Alistair ran a hand up one leg and over her thigh, urging her to lift it so he could hook his elbow underneath, balancing his weight on the other arm.

“Guide me.” He whispered to her and she took him in hand, gently drawing him forward to her slit before pressing in slightly and allowing the intense heat of her inner warmth to take him. Both moaned softly at this first breach, but he kept pushing, gentle but insistent until a barrier stopped him.

Andra gripped at him. “Don’t stop!”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” She whined and hooked her feet around his back, pulling at his hips.

“I’m sorry,” Alistair moaned before leaning over to kiss her deeply as he pulled back slightly and thrust harshly with his hips, breaching her at last. She cried out into his mouth and he couldn’t tell if it was in pain or pleasure, her hips bucking to meet his.

With Alistair in control of one of her legs it was easy to find a rhythm between them, her rolling her hips to meet his every thrust, filling and completing her. Every thrust deep enough to not only hit that spot that ached within her, but also a spot even further within that edged on pain every time he hit it, a blossom of indescribable feeling that left her moaning with every impact. Alistair watched her face in awe as she spiraled higher, her heat gripping him each time his hips pulled away from her. His own pleasure was building within him at a steady pace but was determined to bring her first. When her back suddenly arched, her eyes closed in concentration, her fingernails dug into his back deep enough to leave marks, her teeth found purchase in the meat of his shoulder, her voice dropped an octave as her moan drew out into a ragged groan, and her inner walls fluttered and clenched around him he knew he’d succeeded and lost himself to the feeling, allowing himself to fall over that edge of pleasure. As he slowed she cried out in anguish.

“Don’t stop! Maker, Alistair, please! Please, don’t stop!”

His eyes widened as he realized she was literally convulsing under him, still deep in the midst of her orgasm. He pulled out entirely and replaced himself with three fingers, plunging deep and curling them into her as he thumbed her clit once more. She groaned and thrust herself on him, eyes flying wide, revealing predatory pupils.

“Andra?” Alistair asked concerned.

“More…please…Maker….Alistair….I love you so much….please….” she panted.

Alistair nodded, mostly to himself. He scooted down between her legs and spread her, sucking her nub and teasing it with his tongue as his fingers continued to pump in and out of her, tasting both her and himself, enjoying their mingled taste. She cried out incoherently, fingers scrabbling the sheet beneath her for purchase. Finally Andra let out a wailing keen of his name, her entire body arching off the bed supported by only her shoulders and feet, before sinking back onto the bed, utterly spent. Slowly Alistair withdrew himself from her before he moved up to smooth the sweat-slicked hair off of her face as she panted for breath.

“Maker, I am a lucky man,” he whispered as he cupped her cheek and kissed her gently.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” she replied with a smile as she returned the kiss.

“You know…according to the Chantry sisters, I should be getting struck with lightning right about now…”

“After that? I don’t think so.”

“Meaning it was so great that the Maker himself has decided to spare me the usual punishment, right? Aww.”

Andra smiled sleepily and curled into him, her head resting on his shoulder. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”

Alistair wiggled the sheets from beneath them to cover them both before kissing her brow. “As long as you’ll have me, love.”

“So…forever, then.” Andra murmured as her eyes drifted shut.

Alistair nodded, settling his head against the pillows. “Whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my Beloved Readers, here it is at last. I hope it was worth the wait! And very very much welcome _all_ feedback.


	46. To Be A Warden: Return to Ostagar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Wardens

Andra woke to soft kisses along her shoulders. She smiled, refusing to open her eyes, and rolled into the warmth at her back.

“Morning, love,” came a soft masculine whisper in her ear, sending a shudder of delight down her spine. For that voice she would wake. She pried her eyes open and found herself staring into caramel ones filled with adoration. The events of the previous night snapped into focus as she became of where they were.

“Alistair?”

“Yes.”

“Is this real?”

“As far I can tell.”

“Not a dream.”

“Maker, I hope not.” He seized her lips in a searing kiss, letting her brain catch up.

“You’re in my bed. Naked. We…”

“Definitely.” Alistair frowned, suddenly concerned. “You- you aren’t regretting it are you? Because I don’t. Not for a second. I love you, Andra. And if I have to go kill the archdemon right now to prove it, I will.”

“No! Yes? I…shit.” Andra took a breath and started over, the words tumbling from her too fast, having been pent up too long. “I love you, Alistair. I think I said that last night but it might have gotten lost so I want to say it again, because you need to know that, no matter what, I _do_ love you. It just scares me so much because I still have this thing with Urthemiel and I don’t even know _what_ we have but I know he’s jealous and when I even thought about getting handsy with Duncan he mounted a hit squad to take him out and now you and I have…. Maker only knows what he’ll do to you. I can’t lose you, Alistair, I just can’t. And what’s worse, neither of us were thinking last night. We didn’t even try to prevent… What if I get pregnant, Alistair?”

He couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh. “Is that all? You had me worried there, Andra!” She looked at him like he’d grown a second head and he chuckled again, pulling her into his embrace. “Hush, love. One thing at a time. Let’s deal with the easy one. Pregnancy.”

“ _That’s_ the easy one?!”

“Yes.” Alistair snickered. “It is for Wardens. Look, every Warden I know of who has had children did so before they Joined. Something about it – probably the Taint – makes it really hard for us to have children. So two of us together? It’s highly unlikely.”

“And if it did happen?”

Alistair smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Well. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be entirely disappointed.”

Andra swallowed loudly. “What about-“

“The archdemon? I’m sorry, love, but as far as I’m concerned the plan hasn’t changed. If anything, I’m more determined than ever to kill the lizardy bastard.”

“And Urthemiel?”

“Are you saying they’re different?”

Andra nodded. “The archdemon is ruled by the Taint. A dragon that is as hurt by the Blight as anything else. But Urthemiel….”

“You care for him.” It was a statement, and Andra could hear the pain of it in Alistair’s voice. Even so, she refused to lie to him.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll fight for you, my love. The bloody archdemon can have the world if it meant that I would get to keep you.”

“Alistair-“

“I mean it, Andra. I don’t know what you are to him. But…” He crushed her to his chest, his lips to hers, fingers curling in her hair. Eventually they broke for air, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen and eyes glazed with lust. “…You are everything to me. Everything.” He pushed her gently into the mattress and proceeded to show her exactly what that meant.

Andra gathered everyone for a late lunch. Her companions shared a few knowing looks as Alistair stood just a step closer than he had before, a smile dancing just out of sight on his lips. “Leliana, Voxum. We were too distracted last night-“ this got a few snickers, which she ignored, “-to hear your report about Brother Genitivi.”

“Ah, yes.” Leliana started, wiping the grin from her face. “We went to his home, as you requested, and met with his assistant; a very nervous man name Weylon. He told us that the Brother’s search had taken him to Lake Calenhad, and that a half dozen of Redcliffe’s knights had followed in his footsteps. None had returned. Given that you had just been to the Circle there and not mentioned anything about it, we thought it was odd. I asked to see Genitivi’s research and the man baulked, like he’d never been asked that before. It was very strange behavior for a supposed assistant to a scholar.”

Voxum chimed in, “So I went back that night to find the research for myself. Instead I found a body stuffed inside a chest and a whole lot of notes on ‘Weylon’ – everything from where he was born to his favorite food to the fact that he still slept with a teddy bear. The man we’d spoken to was an impostor. I got out and we came back the next day, asking more pointed questions. We… got him to talk. Genitivi was doing research on Dragon Cults and this man was one of _them_ from someplace on the southern border called Haven.”

Andra nodded. “Right. Alistair informed me of your encounter as you returned home, so we have two goals that direction. It seems the Wardens have some unfinished business in Ostagar. Anyone who wants a piece of that is welcome to come along. From there we go to this Haven to find Brother Genitivi and hopefully find the Urn of Sacred Ashes for Arl Eamon so we can take care of Loghain once and for all.”

“A word, if you please,” Morrigan motioned to Andra after the meeting had broken up.

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“When you were at the Circle of Magi, you didn’t happen to come across any tomes did you?”

“Several. It was a Circle. Is there something in particular you were looking for?”

“Yes. This would have been rather distinct, and no doubt hidden away from prying apprentice eyes. It belonged to my mother, you see. And I would very much like to have it. I believe the cover was-“

“Black? I remember finding a book that looked really out of place from the others. It was in Irving’s office. I put it in the library for Avernus. You could go see if it’s the book you’re looking for.”

Morrigan’s eyes lit up with delight. “I will, at once! If it is…” She hurried away, not quite running.

Isallin and Osane were the next to approach. “Hey Commander, can we grab a moment of your time?” Andra nodded. “We’ve been working on that thing you gave us at Redcliffe. That’s some pretty advanced theoretical magic. Where’d you get that from?” Isallin asked curiously.

“The more important question is _can you do it_?” Andra looked intently at the two Mage-Wardens.

“We’ve already done most of it – it’s primed but, there’s the last bit, of course. And we still can’t figure out why you’d want such a thing. I mean….what’s the point?” Osane added, concerned.

“Don’t worry about it. Just put it in with my things. I don’t want it…damaged.”

“As you say.”

“What was that about?” Alistair asked, coming up behind her as the two mages left.

“Who, Morrigan or Isallin and Osane?”

“Take your pick.”

“Morrigan wanted a book. The other two were giving me a report.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Do you ever, when Morrigan’s involved?”

“Fair enough. When are you expecting on leaving for Ostagar?”

“In the morning. We need to gather supplies, and everyone deserves another night in a comfortable bed.” Andra couldn’t help but say the last with a smile, which was answered whole-heartedly by Alistair.

The bad news was that Ostagar was cold, covered in snow, and filled with darkspawn. The good news was that there were seven grey Wardens who were now relatively experienced and had a rather sharp bone to pick. Group by group the Wardens mercilessly took them down. When they found King Cailan’s body, naked and strung up on a statue for the wolves and birds, reactions varied: Alistair’s eyes welled, while Osane’s stomach emptied its contents. Andra’s eyes hardened into diamonds as she catalogued each hurt that the darkspawn had made on their king. It was just one more crime to add to Loghain’s list. A genlock mage led them on a chase through the Tower of Ishal and down to the battlefield. It was there they encountered the ogre. It could have been any ogre, but it wasn’t, and each of them knew it as soon as they saw the blades sticking from its chest. The hilts that had been wrapped so carefully in Warden grey by their mentor and savior.

Duncan’s blades.

Duncan’s killer.

The thing was undead, and for once Osane’s healing magic could be put to use offensively. Isallin’s blood magic poured forth from her, lashing out like blades of blood. Mirun and Voxum vanished, but her handiwork was suddenly everywhere, the beast bleeding from a thousand cuts. Arrows sprouted from its thick hide like daisies in the snow as the quiet twang from Vena’s bow thrummed in the background, giving their dance a deadly beat. Alistair charged the beast with a cry, shield held high and slashing low but deep. Andra ignored it all. In her head the song swelled and warned of a larger threat. She scanned for the danger, but saw nothing at first.

And then a flicker out of the corner of her eye, “FIREBALL!” She dove out of the way, and ran for the caster. A bolt of lightning streaked towards her, hitting her straight on. Andra screamed through the pain, her muscles convulsing under her as she dropped her blade down on the genlocks unprotected head, splattering brain matter everywhere before collapsing in a pile of tensed muscle. Without the magic to sustain it, the ogre had only its own momentum to keep it upright and the Warden’s fury was overwhelming. A few sure cuts and the beast was brought low. Andra pulled herself to a sitting position.

“Everyone okay?” There was assent all around. Bizarrely, the genlock was wearing Cailan’s armor – some kind of sick prize. The Warden’s peeled it from the creature, stained as it was.

"Ick. I don’t think this will ever be clean again!” Alistair complained. “Let’s finish what we came here for.”

“Now that we have breathing room? Of course.” Andra nodded. The seven trudged back up through the Tower and to the encampment, seeking the place where Cailan’s tent once stood. Sure enough, although the tent was gone, a sturdy chest remained, half buried in the snow. Within were documents, too plentiful to be sorted through properly, but a quick glance revealed correspondence between himself and Empress Celene of Orlais. Beneath those was a magnificent sword made of dragonbone. Runes were carved into the blade that faintly shone blue. Andra’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Is that…?”

“King Maric’s sword,” Alistair breathed. “It has to be. Maker’s Breath.”

“It’s beautiful. And it’s yours.”

“Mine?! How do you figure?” Alistair protested.

“He was your father.”

Alistair turned to stare at the sword again. “Maker.” With due reverence, he sheathed the sword, securing it at his waist before speaking again. “We need to take care of King Cailan. My…my brother.”

“I only wish we could find Duncan’s body to do the same.”

The seven trudged back to the bridge that connected east and west Ostagar and set about their grizzly task: taking the body down and setting up a funeral pyre. Osane and Isallin lit the pyre – making sure it burned hot and bright. As the fire lit, Alistair began to speak, his chanting soft, but heartfelt.

“My Maker, know my heart  
Take from me a life of sorrow  
Lift me from a world of pain  
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride

My Creator, judge me whole:  
Find me well within Your grace  
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed  
Tell me I have sung to Your approval

O Maker, hear my cry:  
Seat me by Your side in death  
Make me one within Your glory  
And let the world once more see Your favor 

For You are the fire at the heart of the world  
And comfort is only Yours to give.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, either the last chapter was so mind-blowingly awesome that everyone was left speechless (highly unlikely), it sucked so bad that no one quite knew how to tell me (quite probable), or no one is bothering to read my crap anymore (equally possible). Oh well.


	47. Campfire Tales: Voxum Tabris

The alienage was not a good place to grow up. Especially if you were pretty. Especially not if your mother was a thief and a killer. Learning her mother’s skills was not a choice for Voxum – it was a necessity. That was Lesson One: you do what is necessary. She grew up on the tales of the beautiful red-headed Orlesian bard – barely more than a child herself - who had saved her mother from the human prison after a break-in had gone wrong and her partners had abandoned her to save their own skins. That was Lesson Two: never trust your partners. When she turned twelve Voxum’s prettiness turned to pure beauty and dangerous curves unusual in an elf and the shem’s began to take notice. Her mother protected her as best she could, but there was only so much one elf, no matter how talented, could do in a world set against them when everyone averted their eyes.

Three years later Voxum caught the eye of a young but lustful lord who was determined to have his way with her – regardless of Voxum’s feelings on the matter. Although Voxum screamed, begged, cried, and pleaded, it mattered little. If anything, the lordling seemed to enjoy it. Broken and bleeding, Voxum staggered home and told her tale to her father’s shoulder. It was the last time she saw her mother. That was Lesson Three: vengeance will only get you killed.

Without the income her mother brought in, her father deep in mourning, it was left to Voxum to find a way to support her family. She had the skills her mother had taught her, but they were incomplete. The only other thing she had was her body – and men certainly seemed interested in that. Disgusted with herself, but seeing no alternative, Voxum found herself at the doorstep of The Pearl. Within, she found acceptance, and the beginnings of a new life. The women there had stories similar to her own – or worse. The mistress taught them a modicum of self-respect and power over their clients. She showed Voxum how to use her assets to her best advantage to get what she needed and wanted. That was Lesson Four: your body is power.

She enjoyed her newfound freedoms, her body and whispered promises getting her access to things she had only dreamed of before. What her mother had stolen, she was gifted in hopes of a free night of passion. But nothing came freely from Voxum, whether or not the recipient realized it. And she never gave her heart away. That was the most important Lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of the Campfire Tales.


	48. Gathering An Army: Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Wardens

The walk from Ostagar to Haven was difficult in the snow, but mercifully short, comparatively speaking. The town – a village really – was set on the side of a mountain, its houses scattered to whatever small amounts of flat land could be found. A guard greeted them.

“What business do you have in Haven?”

Andra blinked. “Well. At least we know we’re in the right place. Greetings. We’re looking for a Brother Genitivi. We’ve believe he may have come this way in pursuit of the Sacred Ashes of Andraste.”

“No. No such man has come here.”

“I…see.” Andra looked to her companions. Voxum shook her head slightly and saddled up to the man, swishing her hips provocatively.

“No one at all? I’m told there were knights looking for him. He’s a very important man. If you helped us find him, I’m sure the rewards would be _worth your while_.” The guard’s eyes slid to her abundant chest as she stood just inside the edge of his personal space, a smile playing on her face, her eyes sweeping his body. Her pointed tongue darted out of her mouth to lick full lips. He cleared his throat.

“No one. Perhaps the Revered Father could answer your questions. He is in the Chantry with the villagers right now, however and should not be disturbed.”

“Oh. So we’re...alone…then?” Voxum asked, raising an eyebrow as she subtly motioned for the others to leave behind her back.

“I…well…that is…” the guard stuttered. The rest of the Wardens left in search of the Chantry in question.

“Can you feel it?” Isallin asked, once they were out of earshot. “There’s blood in the air. A lot of it. There is something very wrong with this place.”

Andra frowned. “Mirun, can you check out one of the houses? See what there is to see? We’ll keep heading up.” With a nod the thief was gone. The others found a building that proclaimed itself to be the village store and went inside. The shop-keep was absent, presumably at the Chantry with the rest of the village, but the store had little of interest anyway. Far more interesting was the store-room in the back. There, amidst the clutter was a set of armor, the crest of Redcliffe on the shield. Mirun returned.

“So one of the houses had an altar in it. With a lot of blood.”

“Fancy butcher block?” Alistair questioned. Andra looked at him incredulously. “What? I can hope! No? Ugh. I guess we need to speak to this ‘Revered Father’ then.”

They made their way to the Chantry, the climb straining their legs. Inside, the ‘Father’ greeted them, as if nothing was wrong.

“I think we’re well past pretending you and this village are normal, don’t you, Father?”

He frowned. “This is why we don’t allow outlanders into our village. They do not understand our sacred duty to Andraste. Protect her, brothers and sisters! She guides us into righteousness!” And with that the Chantry exploded into movement and the villagers attacked. Even so, they were little match against armed and armored opponents.

“Is it just me, or is it weird that they were talking about Andraste in the present tense?” Alistair asked.

“It isn’t you,” came Voxum’s voice as a wall slid open to their right. “These people are crazy. Also, I found Genitivi. He needs you, Osane.”

Osane hurried through, followed by the others, to find the brother lying on the floor of a hidden room, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Osane hissed at seeing it, and knelt to survey the extent of the damage.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Vena asked dryly. Voxum didn’t answer verbally, but simply pointed to a corner of the room where a body lay slumped. A dark pool was slowly spreading from beneath it. “Ah.”

“I’m sorry, ser. There’s no way to make this better. It’s going to hurt,” Osane said softly as she offered a strap of leather from her belt. The Brother took it, uncertain what to do with it at first, before Alistair placed it in his mouth and held him down. She began casting, a pale blue glow swirling around her before enveloping Genitivi. His eyes bugged as he screamed, his body arching involuntarily in pain as the magic re-broke and then set and healed his leg properly. It took him several minutes before he could speak properly again.

“Maker bless you, child. I didn’t think I’d ever walk again. And yes, these fanatics are rather…single-minded. I believe the Urn of Sacred Ashes is on this mountain, but these cultists believe it is their sacred duty to protect it – her – from anyone seeking them.”

“They spoke about her like she’s still alive,” Andra noted.

“Impossible, of course. The Temple itself is ahead, but it requires a key. A very special key. The priest should have it around his neck. It will probably look like an amulet, and not like a key at all.” Mirun left to retireve the item in question.

“Are you in any condition to go forward, Brother? I fear that we need the ashes for Arl Eamon, but I would not have you risk your life.” Andra asked, worried.

“The Arl? Dear me, I have missed quite a bit. But yes, I am quite well now, thanks to your friend here.”

Mirun returned, amulet in hand. “Yes, that’s it! You see, if you turn it like this...” He deftly manipulated the amulet until it resembled a key. As one, they rose and made their way forward into the ancient ruins. More cultists had run of the place, but they posed little threat to the invading Wardens. Of far greater concern was the growing evidence that the cultists did not worship the Sacred Ashes of Andraste, but dragons, and in particular a high dragon that they had declared to be Andraste reborn. As they rose though the mountain ruins an idea began to seep into Andra’s head.

“Alistair…if we run into the leader of these people, I want to try something, but it might be dangerous, on a number of levels. Back me up, but be prepared.”

Alistair frowned at her, concerned. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

“Probably.”

“That’s a terrible idea. Not to mention blasphemous. What if you can’t come back? What if we lose you completely? What if _I_ lose you?”

Andra smiled, her eyes gentle as she cupped his cheek. “Then you were going to, eventually, anyway.” The path they were on crested into a large open room.

“Halt. Though you be the intruders here, I would have no more blood shed than necessary.”

Andra nodded imperceptibly to Alistair who took the lead. “And who might you be?”

“I am Father Kolgrim, leader of Haven and protector of our beloved Andraste.”

Alistair laughed, disbelieving. “You mean a dragon. I hate to tell you, friend, but Andraste died Ages ago.”

“Indeed. But she has returned to us! Her power incomplete only because her human remains are protected by a spirit.”

“ **No!** ” Andra’s voice boomed out, otherworldly. Both men spun to face her, Kolgrim’s eyes going wide upon seeing her prismatic golden predatory ones fixated on him. “ **Look upon me and know the truth. Dragon and Woman as one. The creature out there is naught but a dragon. Powerful, yes, but she bows to _me._ As should you.** ”

Alistair’s eyes flicked to Vena before he dropped to one knee, going along with the charade for the moment. “As we always have, my lady.”

Kolgrim’s eyes narrowed. “You dare claim power over the Blessed Andraste? I would see you prove yourself.”

“ **I have no need.** ” She strode past him and his lackeys, exiting the ruins to the cold mountain air. There a huge black high dragon circled. Kolgrim darted ahead, clanging a gong as he did so to draw the dragon’s attention. It landed ahead of them, hissing in warning. Andra paid it no heed, continuing as if it weren’t there. The dragon lowered its head to bite at Andra. Instead Andra caught the creature’s eyes, staring hard, and she continued her advance. With a whine ‘Andraste’ fell to all fours in supplication before shuffling to one side.

“No! Kill them! They are false!” Kolgrim rushed forward screaming. The next moment he was lying in the snow, surprise painted on his face as an arrow had cleanly pierced his throat. Vena unstrung her bow as Da’fen wiggled free of her pack to pounce playfully on the corpse. Vena scooped her up and put her back into the pack. Andra waved a dismissing hand. A moment later the dragon was gone in a flurry of snow.

“Andra?”

 **“I hear you, Alistair.** ”

“It’s time to let it go, Andra. It’s time to come back.”

“ **I cannot.** ”

“You have to. Let it go. Let _him_ go. Come back to me, love.”

Andra’s face knitted in concentration. “ **I- I cannot. Help me, Alistair. I can hear him, whispering.** ”

“Shit.” He looked around. There was no good place for this. “You guys go on ahead, but not too far, just out of the cold. Andra and I need to take care of this back in the caves. Mirun can you…fill them in?”

Mirun looked concerned but nodded knowingly, gathering the other women and drawing them forward as Alistair pulled Andra back. Her head lolled on his shoulder. She was slipping away. He hurried them to a pile of hay, laying her down as softly as he could. “This isn’t ever how I wanted this to be…I want you to know that.”

She was being kissed, hands trailing softly down her sides, unbuckling her armor and releasing her from its confines. Lips slid along her neck and ears. Fingers found her nipples and pulled harshly, causing her to cry out with need. A tongue made its way up her inner thigh. No – her pants and armor were still on, weren’t they? Hands gripped her hair tightly as another pair gently raised her hips to remove her greaves. Gentle kisses were peppered across her stomach while hungry ones were torn from her lips. Whispers in her ear: a gentle fall breeze and a violent summer storm.

“Mine.” _Mine._

Her breasts are engulfed in warmth, each by a mouth while hands find their opposite and the sensation is overwhelming. One mouth is gentle, tongue teasing her to a hard point while the hand is rough, groping and squeezing just on the edge of pain. The other mouth is harsh, teeth nipping and biting, but gentle fingers play with the sensitive under-side. The unused hands trail their way south, one striping her with nails along her sides, the other teasing with ever-so-light finger pads. She whimpers and the whispers come again.

“Stay with me, my love.” _Come to me, my love._

Clever fingers find that sensitive spot and she cries out. Somehow there is a tongue there as well. They flick in an opposite but identical rhythm, making the experience terrifyingly fast. Fingers enter her, stretching, filling, pumping. They curl and brush the spot deep within and it is too much. She is overwhelmed by the sensation and her walls clench tightly around the intruders.

“Andra!” _Andra!_

It is a plea, a beg, a moan. Her legs spread of their own accord, silently asking for more and her lovers are more than willing to accommodate. A heavy weight settles between her thighs and she sighs happily, feeling their want brush against her. He (they?) push into her and she nearly screams as she comes again simply from being filled. They are different, and she can feel the differences as they somehow occupy the same space. One grabs her wrists and pins them above her head, using that as a balancing point for his thrust, which are hard and deep and cause her to grunt in a most undignified way. The other pulls her legs around his waist and clutches her waist, lifting her to meet him as their hips roll together. She pants, sweat sprouting across her brow and rolling down her spine as she moves. She throws her head back in ecstasy, and her breasts are once again taken into their mouths. She cries out, unable to make actual words.

“Come for me.” _Come for me._

She does. She knows her eyes are open. Even so, her vision goes to tunnel black. Her hearing becomes nothing but the roar of blood. Everything is centered on the feeling just below her navel and she never wants it to stop.

_I can do that for you, my love. It never has to. Just be Mine._

I-

“Please, please. I can’t lose you. Not you. I love you too much, Andra.”

She remembers and opens her eyes.

“I love you too, Alistair.”

She could feel _his_ panic at the edge of her mind, and knew that she wasn’t wholly back.

“Andra, will you- That is, if we…if we get through all this. Will you consider being my wife?”

_No!_

“Alistair,” She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “If we get through this, you will most likely be king, and you will need an heir.”

“If I’m king, they won’t be able to stop me.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s not a yes.”

Alistair tore his eyes away, swallowing hard. “Well, you seem to be back, anyway. Let’s finish. We can talk about the future in a less cold setting. Physically, at least.”

She winced at the pain in his voice, but stood anyway, searching out her discarded clothing and armor. When they rejoined the others, she had only to look in their eyes to know her secret was out. Any questions were cut short, however, as a being approached.   It looked like a man, but the style of his armor was long out of fashion – ancient, as was his accent when he spoke.

“Welcome, pilgrims, to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Long has it been since any of the faithful have walked this path. I am the protector, the guardian of the Sacred Ashes.”

Andra bowed in reverence. “I greet you. May we see the Urn?”

“You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove worthy.”

“And if we are not worthy?”

“Then you will not come to the Ashes. It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to sake a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself.” Andra looked to the others who nodded, ready to take on the new trials. “Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path to get here was not easy. There is suffering in your past – your suffering, and the suffering of others. You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy. Do you think you failed your parents?”

Andra looked like she’d been punched in the stomach. “I did not abandon them, spirit,” she replied through clenched teeth. “I would never have left their sides, had I a choice. As to Rendon Howe…there will be a reckoning.”

“So you carry your past with you still, feeling as though you have been forced to this place when you know well that choices you’ve made have all been your own. Interesting.”

Andra glared. “I suppose you might see it that way, if you consider ignoring your duty a legitimate choice.”

“And what of those that follow you?” His head quirked first to Vena. “Tamlen was one of your tribe – a blood-brother. You left him in the ruins, left him to his fate. Did you fail Tamlen?”

Vena laughed, surprising her companions. “I did no such thing. By the time I returned to the ruins he was already gone.”

“Do you care so little for your tribe-mates then?”

“I care as much for them as they do for me.”

“I see. And you, blood-mage. Jowan was discovered by the Templars. You were helping him. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?”

Isallin bristled under the guardian’s scrutiny. “He lied to me. If he hadn’t I could have done more to protect him. He failed himself. Even so, I corrected the mistakes I made already. So no.”

“Child of shadows, by the time you reached Shianni she was broken, brutalized. You were too late. Did you fail her?” The guardian addressed Voxum.

“Of course I did. Even so, she will grow stronger because of it, as I did. Your past can be a crutch to lean on, or a tool to shape you. I know my cousin. She will learn.”

“And you, healer. You speak to spirits, knowing the dangers that lie in the Fade. Do you ever fear you will mistake one for a demon? That you will slip and become the very thing you fear the most?”

Osane was quiet. “You know that I do. I would be a fool not to. It is when I stop being afraid that I will know some line has been crossed.”

“Circumstance has promoted you far beyond your caste, child of the Stone, but you left your family behind in the Dust. Do you regret leaving them in the slums of Orzammar?”

Mirun shook her head. “You’re kidding right? Rica’s full of a baby and is going to be the wife of a King! My whole family has been promoted and I had nothing to do with it. As it turns out, either way, my life would have been okay.”

The guardian looked disbelievingly at Mirun, but did not comment further, instead turning to the remaining member. “Alistair, knight and Warden… You wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don’t you, if you should have died, and not him?”

“I… yes. If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If I’d just had the chance, maybe…”

Andra looked at her lover sadly, knowing just how much was being left unsaid.

“Very well. You may proceed.” The guardian flickered into nothingness. Beyond lay simple traps; questions of history and religion which the mages could answer, a bizarre disappearing bridge that Mirun and Voxum quickly laid to waste, and a small fight with imaginary echoes of themselves. Finally they came to the Urn itself – the only thing stopping them was a wall of fire. A placard on a pedestal gave them their only clue for this final test: _Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker’s sight._

Andra looked at the others, shocked. “You’re kidding. We have to strip for the Maker.”

Voxum grinned. “I’m in!”

“You would be.”

Alistair stood, frozen. “No. No way. There is no way. There are too many of you….women. There’s no way I’m doing this. I don’t care how holy she is, I am not undressing for Andraste.”

Vena nodded viciously. “I’m with him. Besides, she’s not my savior. Just a big pot with a dead lady in it.”

“Alistair…please,” Andra begged quietly.

“You just want to see me naked!” he accused.

“Again!” Voxum piped up, giggling as she shimmied out of her leathers.

“Not helping, Voxum!”

“But true.”

Andra nodded, mostly to herself. “As you wish.” She worked the buckles of her armor quickly, and shed her clothing even faster. The heat from the wall of fire was intense as she and Voxum stepped towards it, and the two women shared a worried look before stepping into the blaze together. Cool flames licked their skin, tickling anywhere they touched, and the Warden women were quick to step to the other side. As one they approached the altar where the giant Urn awaited them. Andra took a moment to say a small prayer before taking a handful of the ashes in a small leather pouch and returning to the others. The two women dressed quickly, Andra refusing to meet Alistair’s eyes, and the group returned to Brother Genitivi.

“You’ve really done it! I can see it in your eyes. Oh, there is so much to do. Perhaps we can mount a whole expedition to explore this place! There is so much to discover!” His excitement was infectious, and Andra couldn’t help but smile.

“Perhaps, Brother, but I beg you to use caution. There are so many people who would use the Urn for their own benefit, instead of its actual purpose.”

Her caution stopped him dead in his tracks. “Would you really seek to stop me? I have searched my whole life for the Urn. I will see it restored to the Chantry or die trying.”

“No, Brother. Of course not. I only ask you to consider that not everyone in the world is as open minded as you. Consider the cult.”

“Oh yes. Of course they must be in my report. So much to do!” He was off again, and she could see that her warning had failed.

“Come on, Andra. The Arl needs those ashes, if he isn’t dead already,” Alistair urged. She nodded sadly. The seven Wardens trudged through the snow towards Redcliffe, escorting the small pouch of ashes, and praying for a miracle.


	49. To Be A Warden: Return to Redcliffe Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Wardens, Morrigan

The Wardens found Redcliffe thankfully peaceful, and the Castle equally so, Teagan eagerly awaiting news. Morrigan was there as well, much to Andra’s surprise, but she said little beyond her greeting.

“Tell me, Wardens,” Teagan asked, the tension thick in his voice, “Do you have news? Eamon still lives but his condition worsens every day. I fear my brother does not have much longer.”

“We have the Ashes. Let us see if they work,” Andra replied. The group hurried up the stairs.  
In the master bed chamber a priestess stood at the end of the bed, singing the Chant. On one side a mage held his hands over Eamon’s body, mana pouring from him and into the Arl in an attempt to keep the man alive and sustained. On the other side his wife, Isolde, held his hand, her eyes shut in prayer. Teagan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder in comfort, then moved to still and remove the mage, motioning for Andra to take his place. She did so, as she brought forth the pouch of the ashes.

“I’m not sure what to do with them,” She realized. “Do I…put it on his head? In his mouth?”

The priestess broke her chanting to answer as best she could. “And She came to me in a vision and laid Her hand on my heart. Her touch was like fire that did not burn. And by Her touch, I was made pure again.”

“Oh.” Andra dipped her hand in the ashes, coating her palm as Isolde bared her husband’s chest to the Warden. Carefully she pressed her hand over Eamon’s heart. Andra could feel how weak Eamon’s heartbeat was. The ashes grew warm between them, but pleasantly so, and his pulse grew stronger with every beat. She drew her hand away and the ashes themselves were gone. Eamon’s eyes fluttered open.

“Wh-where am I?”

Isolde’s relief was such that she couldn’t answer, so Teagon spoke for her. “Be at ease, brother. You have been deathly ill for a very long time. Do you remember nothing?”

“Teagan? What are you doing here? Where is Isolde?” Eamon asked.

“I am here, my husband.”

“And Connor? Where is my boy? Where is our son?”

“He lives, though many others are dead. There is much to tell you, husband,” Isolde answered.

“Dead? Then…it was not a dream.” Eamon sounded sad.  
“Much has happened since you fell ill, brother,” Teagan agreed. “Some of it will not be easy for you to hear.”

“I must hear it, all the same.”

“Of course, brother.” Teagan looked to Andra and the others present. “I thank you for your help, but if you will be so kind as to give us some privacy…”

Andra bowed. “Of course, my lord. We’ll meet your downstairs, whenever you’re ready.” They cleared the room, and Andra caught Morrigan’s eye who motioned her to a private corner.

“I’m sorry to surprise you like this, but I’ve been studying my mother’s book. ‘Tis…not what I expected, and I fear I have another favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?”

“I had thought the book would give me access to her secrets, her powers that she has kept for me for years. Instead it details how she has kept herself alive lo these many years. I’m sure you’re well aware of the tales the bard’s tell of my mother – Flemeth, the woman of legend, the Witch of the Wilds and her daughters? Where are these daughters? I have often wondered it myself, and now I know. They are all Flemeth. When her body gets too old and decrepit she takes her daughter’s body for her own.” Andra’s hands flew to her mouth. “Indeed. I will not lie about like a sack waiting to be filled. My mother is an abomination, ancient and powerful. She must be destroyed. Furthermore, I cannot be there when it happens else she might choose that moment to take me, ready or not.”

“Morrigan. I understand. Believe me. But this….you’re asking me to kill the woman who saved us, and in doing so saved the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden, the last of the Therin line, who – assuming we succeed – will have saved all of Ferelden and the world from the Blight.”

“Yes.”

“A woman who, according to legend and song has lived for countless Ages on her magic alone, and according to you is nigh impossible to kill.”

“I am.”

“She’s your _mother_ , Morrigan. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“And she intends to kill me! Does that mean nothing to _you_?”

Andra weighed the options in her head, rubbing her temples as she did. “Of course it means something, Morrigan. But…we can’t. Not right now. The Blight has to be our first – our only priority. Once it’s over, if everyone involved is still alive, we can discuss it.”

Morrigan sighed, hurt. “I… understand. I will trouble you no more.”

“I’m sorry, Morrigan.”

As the witch walked away, Alistair joined her. “What did she want?”

“For us to kill her mother.”

“She what?!” Alistair sputtered.

“What?” Andra asked innocently. “I told her ‘no’.”

“I will never understand that woman.” He shook his head. “Nor, I think, you. Look. We need to talk. A long, serious one. About serious things. Like feelings. And the future. And cheese. And other important manly things like that. But Eamon is ready to see us, so we should probably go see him first or he’ll get all cranky and make us sleep with the dogs instead of in nice soft beds.”

“Can’t have that.”

Eamon sat in a comfortable looking chair in the dais, Isode and Teagan flanking him. The Wardens, plus Morrigan, stood before him, Andra and Alistair at the front.

“Teagan has told me everything. It is extremely troubling. There is much to be done.”

“There is no telling what Loghain will do once he hears of Eamon’s recovery.” Teagan interjected.

“Loghain instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man; one who never desired power.” Eamon answered evenly.

“I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon. He is mad with ambition, I tell you.”

“Mad indeed. Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands. Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What’s more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to it’s bitter end. I can unite those opposing him, but not all do. Unfortunately he has some very powerful allies. We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn.”

“Loghain must capitulate, then. It was his treachery that brought us to this pass in the first place.”

“I will of course, spread the word. But it will not be enough. A claim made without proof. The claims will give Loghain’s allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger clame to the throne than Loghain’s daughter, the queen. We need you, Alistair. Believe me, I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative, but the unthinkable has occurred.”

Andra nudged Alistair with her shoulder. Alistair cursed quietly under his breath. “Do I not get a say in the matter?”

“King’s rarely do, Alistair. Your claim to the throne is in your very blood, but you are right. It is your choice. However you should know the alternative. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you would prefer?”

“I…but I…no, my lord.”

“Then I see only one way to proceed – a Landsmeet. There, Ferelden will decide who shall rule, one way or another. Once that is done, the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you, Warden-Commander Cousland?”

Andra smiled, all teeth. “I say the Landsmeet won’t have any idea what hit them.”

Teagan and Isolde both took an involuntary step back as Eamon chuckled. “I am glad to be your ally, and not your opponent, Lady Cousland. I will send out the word.” He motioned and a servant bowed and exited the room, presumably to begin the process. “There is one other matter before we leave. My poisoner and Connor’s tutor. He still lives and awaits sentencing, I understand?”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I have him summoned?” Teagan asked.

“Please.” While they waited for the guardsman to return, Eamon again addressed Andra. “I understand he was instrumental in helping Connor’s recovery, and you believe him to be sincere in his desire to repent?”

Andra shrugged. “Without Jowan, I’m afraid we would have had no choice but to cut your son down as an abomination. He certainly claims an earnest desire to repent that my mages believe. Even so, it was your son, and your life. By my reckoning, that makes it your decision.”

“I see. Very well, we shall see what he has to say for himself.” The door opened, but only the guard entered. He bowed low to Eamon, refusing to lift his eyes.

“I am sorry, my lord, but the blood-mage has escaped. His cell door is open and unlocked. The guards who were supposed to bring him food have no memories of doing so since the ritual that freed your son.”

Eamon’s brows knit together in frustration. “Perhaps not such a great desire then. Do what you can to track him down, and inform the Templars.” Andra shot a questioning look at Isallin over her shoulder, remembering her answer to the Guardian. Isallin did her best to look innocent, but failed miserably. “I suppose nothing more can be done about it now. I understand you have gathered all the allies your treaties allow? Then we should go to Denerim as soon as possible.”

“Agreed. I will need to send word to my people at Soldier’s Peak. They can meet us there.”

“As you wish. I’m aware that Warden’s can move at any time. Moving a household, however, requires a bit more preparation. Make yourselves at home here, while we do so.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Andra was just blowing out the last candle when the door to her room opened. Her hands started for the nearby sword before they recognized the silhouette in the doorway.

“Are you going to avoid me forever?”

She relaxed, settling back onto the bed. “I’ve hardly been avoiding you, Alistair.”

He entered the room fully, closing the door behind him. “You have. Any time we’ve had a chance to be alone you’ve found a reason to slip away or drag someone else into the conversation. You go to bed early and wake up even earlier. You know I want to talk to you about what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

Andra groaned. “Alistair, it’s late. Can’t we just-“

“No! No more avoiding this, Andra. Please. We need… _I_ need to talk about this.”

“Okay,” Andra huffed as she sat up a little straighter. “Fine. Talk.”

“I asked you to be my wife, Andra. I know it wasn’t the most romantic of situations. I probably could have done it better. Maybe I should have. But when I’m around you…everything feels _right_. I can’t imagine living without you. I don’t want to.”

Andra’s eyes softened and she reached for his hand. “Oh Alistair. Maker, why do you have to make everything so hard? In a few days you’ll be King of Ferelden-“

“Don’t remind me!”

“-and there are certain expectations that come with that. Expectations like continuing the Therin line. Expectations like making political alliances, though things like marriages. I’ve been looking at those documents we found at Ostagar. Cailan was considering putting Anora aside in favor of Celene. Can you imagine it? A peace between our two countries for the first time in…what, thirtyish years?”

“That would be incredible,” Alistair breathed, taking in the implications.

“Yes. And impossible, if you were married to me. Both of us Wardens? I may as well be barren, Alistair. There would be pressure for you to set me aside within a few years. I suppose I could stay on as a mistress, but frankly, I don’t think I’d be very good at being the second woman.”

“No. And I’d never ask you to be. You are the only woman for me, Andra Cousland. Don’t you understand? I love you.”

“I know, Alistair. I just don’t see-“

“So don’t look, just listen. I. Love. You. That’s all that matters.” He kissed the top of her head and stood. “Just think about it. Please.” He shut the door behind him.

“And I would die for you…” she whispered to the dark.


	50. To Be A Warden: Denerim

The Arl’s manor in Denerim was enormous – plenty large enough to house all of Eamon’s staff as well as give Andra and each of her companions a room of their own, which was good, as those who were not travelling with Eamon had arrived days earlier and had long since tired of staying at the inn. Within the hour of riding in, Loghain himself was at Eamon’s doorstep. Anora and Alistair felt compelled to be there when Eamon greeted him for the first time. Andra’s eye’s narrowed as she saw who accompanied him – Howe.

“Loghain. This is….an honor, that the regent would find time to greet me personally.”

“How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land?” Loghain retorted.

“The Blight is why I’m here,” Eamon replied seriously. “With Cailan dead, Ferelden **must** have a king to lead it against the darkspawn.”

“Ferelden has a strong leader: its queen. And I lead her armies.”

“Perhaps that would be true, if the Therin bloodline ended with Cailan or if Anora was the mother of his heir. But neither is the case here,” Andra said, her feminine voice cutting through the rising testosterone.

“Ah, Warden Cousland. I thought we might meet again. You have my sympathies on what happened to your order. It is unfortunate that they chose to turn against Ferelden.”

Alistair nearly choked at that, but Andra smiled sweetly. “Thank you my lord. You, in turn, have my sympathies on a great many things.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed, the list is quite long. Staining your name and honor with an act of treason and regicide. Your coffers being so much lower for your debt to the Antivan Crows, despite their failure. Your complete disregard for the danger the Blight presents to your country. And of course, your terrible choice in advisors.” Andra’s smile never wavered, as she ticked off the offenses on her fingers.

“You should curb your tongue, girl,” Loghain scowled. “This is my city, and no safe place to speak treason. For anyone. There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden.”

“’Illness?’ Why not call your poison by its true name? Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these…sycophants.”

“How long you’ve been gone from court, Eamon! Don’t you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, and Teyrn of Highever?”

“And current Arl of Denerim, after Urien’s unfortunate fate at Ostagar. Truly, it is an embarrassment of riches,” Howe added, not looking embarrassed at all.

Andra’s smile froze in place as he spoke, her eyes swiveling to him like a wolf after its prey. “I suggest you enjoy it while you can, Howe. Fate is a fickle bitch. You never know when she’ll decide to take her gifts back.”

“You are either very bold, or very stupid to threaten the teyrn before witnesses,” Loghain’s second-in-command warned.

Andra waved a hand at her. “Threaten? I did no such thing. I merely gave warning.” She gave the other woman a toothy grin as she glanced at Loghain.   “I never threaten people. It’s rude.”

“Enough. This is not the time or place.” Loghain looked to the Arl. “I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened. Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne.”

Andra laughed lightly. “An inspiring speech, and overall correct, yet wrong on the most simple but crucial details! Our people _are_ frightened. Our land _is_ under siege. We _must_ be united if we are to endure. Queen Rowan _did_ fight tirelessly to restore Ferelden. But. _You_ are the one undoing her work. _You_ are the one who left her son on the battlefield to die at the hands of darkspawn. _You_ are the one who divided our nation and weakened our efforts against the Blight. _You_ are the one who seeks a throne that is unrightfully yours.”

“I cannot forgive what you’ve done, Loghain,” Eamon added. “Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Therin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight.”

Loghain took a menacing step forward. “The Emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down. Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland.”

He spun to leave, but Andra couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Including murdering your best friend’s child? I rather think I prefer being your enemy.”

His walk stuttered, but Loghain never stopped his angry march our of Eamon’s estate.

“Well,” Eamon said, turning to Andra and Alistair, “that was… bracing. I didn’t expect Loghain to show himself so soon.”

“He had to. By calling the Landsmeet, you’ve called into question every public decision he’s made since Ostagar. If he didn’t face you the second you arrived he’d be admitting cowardice to the nobility,” Andra answered.

Both Alistair and Eamon raised eyebrows at this.   “I forget that behind all the killing and death that you were a noble too, before all this started,” Alistair noted.

“Indeed. I’d heard tales of the fair Lady Cousland, but I’d never encountered her personally. I hadn’t put two and two together until now.”

“’Fair Lady Cousland’?” Alistair asked, curious.

“Uch. Don’t. Just don’t. I hate that nickname.”

“Oh, now I _have_ to know,” Alistair grinned.

“M’lord?” A servant interrupted. “An serving woman named Erlina is here to see you. She claims it is urgent, and for your ears only.”

The Arl frowned but nodded. “Send her in.”

A few moments later a petite elven woman was ushered into the room. She curtsied deeply before speaking, her accent heavily Orlesian. “Please forgive my rude introduction, my lord. I am Earlina, Queen Anora’s handmaiden. She sent me here to ask for your help. The queen, she is in a difficult position. She loved her husband, no? And trusted her father to protect him. When he returns with no king and only dark rumors, what is she to think? She worries, no? But when she tries to speak with him, he does not answer. He tells her ‘not to trouble herself.’ My queen suspects she cannot trust her father. And Loghain, he is very subtle, no? But Rendon Howe, he is privy to all the secrets and… not so subtle. So she goes to Howe. A visit from the queen to the new Arl of Denerim is only a matter of courtesy. And she demands answers. He calls her every sort of name, ‘traitor’ being the kindest, and locks her in a guest room. I think… her life is in danger. I heard Howe say she would be a greater ally dead than alive. Especially if her death could be blamed on Arl Eamon.”

Alistair looked shocked, and a little sick. “Would he really allow the death of his own daughter?”

“King Cailan was like a son to him, and Loghain left him to die. Does he love Anora more? Who can say?” the servant replied.

“We may have no choice but to trust Anora,” Eamon agreed. “The queen is well-loved. If Loghain succeeded in pinning her death on me… I’m not sure that’s a risk we can afford to take.”

Andra sighed, rubbing her temples and rolling her shoulders. “If we don’t act they either have Anora on their side or can pin her death on Eamon. If we do and they catch us, they can pin it on us anyway. We’re only left with one option – we have to get her out and pray this isn’t a trap.”

Erlina smiled. “I have some uniforms. Arl Howe hires so many new guards every day, a few more will not cause much stir. I will show you to the servants’ entrance. We must slip in and out with my queen before anyone is the wiser.”

“Yes. But not ‘we’. And maybe no uniforms, I don’t know. What we need are specialists. Fortunately, we have a few.”

Alistair looked at Andra, shaking his head, concerned. “You don’t….you aren’t going to…”

“So that’s the situation. I’m leaving this one in your very capable hands.” Andra said to the four in front of her.

Mirun, Voxum, Leliana, and Zevran sat around a small table in a side room with a few sketched out maps from Erlina.

“Stealth is preferred?” Mirun asked.

Andra shrugged. “Not necessarily. What’s preferred is that no one knows of our involvement. That’s not quite the same thing.”

Zevran considered. “You said this handmaiden had guard uniforms if we wanted them, yes?” Andra nodded her confirmation. “We could use those to get past the worst of the guards outside, and then ditch them for stealth once inside.”

“No, the one’s guarding the exterior are probably the most experienced,” Leliana argued. “But I know a way in through the treasury. Most people couldn’t even try it, but we are all, shall we say… flexible?”

“There are a hundred ways into a place,” Voxum said. “But there are very few ways out – especially with someone who isn’t one of us. **That’s** the part we need to worry about.”

Andra cleared her throat. “I do have one other thing to add. If there is any way possible. At all. As in, I don’t want you four or the queen dying, but pretty much anything else to make this happen is fine, including setting the whole of Denerim on fire.” She took a breath for emphasis. “I want Howe brought with you as well. Alive.”

The four rogues looked at each other for a beat in silence. “Night job,” they said as one.


	51. Thief: The Dragon Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voxum, Mirun, Zevran, Leliana

It was a good night to be a thief. Cloud cover obscured most of the moonlight and all of the stars. A light fog had rolled in, providing even more uncertainty of shapes in the shadows. The four thieves moved quickly across Denerim’s landscape towards their target, ignoring all other prizes, no matter how easy or tempting they might be. Two goals. Two prizes. One destination. The Arl of Denerim’s estate was indeed heavily guarded, as anticipated. Even so, there were plenty of shadows for the thief, bard, and two assassins to dart through when backs were turned or attention wavered. They made their way from the front of the estate, following the walls around the side and to a private garden.

“There.” Leliana whispered, noting a narrow window high above them and almost completely hidden by the branches of a tree. One by one they climbed the tree and carefully slipped through the opening. As promised they dropped into the treasury. A check into the hallway beyond assured them no guards lingered in this portion of the estate and the four moved swiftly to the guest room where Queen Anora was supposed to be.

“My lady?” Zevran tapped at the door lightly. “Queen Anora?”

“Who’s there?” Came the hesitant reply.

“Grey Wardens.” Mirun replied dryly. Voxum kept an eye on the hall for treachery.

“Oh, thank the Maker! Erlina reached you. I fear there’s a kink in the plans. Howe has become even more paranoid – not something I thought possible, frankly. He’s had his pet mage cast a spell on the door, sealing it shut. It won’t open until the spell is gone.”

“Any idea where this mage is?” Zevran asked.

“He rarely leaves Howe’s side,” Anora answered.

“We’ll be back.”

They consulted the map. Howe’s bedroom was back the way they had come. Retreating, the four rogues cautiously checked the other rooms between, but found only sleeping guards and servants. They came to the room at the end. A huge bed dominated the room, but it was empty. A desk covered with paperwork stood against one wall, and shuffling through the papers confirmed that this was Howe’s bedroom. The four made quick work of the place, each taking a corner, and leaving no stone unturned. Zevran discovered a chest of torture equipment – or possibly sex toys, given the proximity of the chest to the bed. Leliana scoured the desk and bookshelves for possible useful information, taking any papers that looked potentially incriminating. Voxum found a different chest of items that seemed out of place, and not belonging to the Arl at all – papers, clothing and armor, weapons. She took the papers and the weapons. It was Mirun who discovered the hidden door behind a tapestry that led to a long staircase and a locked door. With a raised eyebrow, the others nodded that they were ready. She opened the door.

“And who are you supposed to be?” immediately came the gruff and suspicious voice of a guard – one who clearly knew his duty. Voxum’s dagger flew and he was silenced. His three companions suffered similar fates from Leliana’s bow, Mirun’s axe and Zevran’s poisoned short sword.

“Looks like someone likes to nip down to the dungeon for a bit of fun before bedtime…” Zevran noted quietly.

Voxum curled her lip in disgust. “This place is vile. Let’s get this done and get out.”

“I couldn’t agree more, friend,” came a voice. “If you’d be so kind, that is…”

Mirun stepped around the first corner available, arms crossed. “Not that I object to anyone this guy has locked up, but who are you supposed to be? No offense, but we can’t risk discovery right now.”

“My name is Riordan. I am a Grey Warden.”

“You…!” Voxum looked again at the weapons she had confiscated. Sure enough, the hilts bore the Warden’s Griffon. “I guess these are yours then, brother.” Mirun knelt to pick the lock.

“Brother? So you are a Grey Warden as well?”

She nodded and motioned to Mirun. “We both are. I’ll assume these are your papers, also? There are others. Can you get out without getting caught?” He nodded. “Head up the stairs…your clothes and armor are in a chest. Then head to Arl Eamon’s estate. We have healers that can help you. That’s where the rest of us are – and where the Commander is.”

“Duncan still lives? I thought…” Mirun dropped her eyes, and shook her head. “Ah. Of course. I will see you there then.”

The rogues moved off, proceeding down the dimly lit hallway, peering into empty cells and torture rooms.

“He certainly has a lot of these, doesn’t he?” Zevran noted as they entered yet another torture room. Leliana gasped, and the others turned.

“It’s nothing…” she assured them, but her eyes were hooded as she stared at the rack in the corner, crusted with blood years old.

The next room’s rack was actually occupied, the man begging for an end to his pain. Zevran practically ran to his side and began to loosen the restraints. “Let me help you, my friend. Can you stand?”

“I- I think so. Maker bless you. Did my father send you to rescue me?”

“Your father? I’m afraid not, ser. We don’t even know who you are, but any enemy of Howe is no doubt a friend of ours.”

“So my father doesn’t even know then… Well. I am a friend. And I will make my father knows what you have done for me. Dragon’s Peak bannorn does not forget its debts.”

“King Alistair and the Grey Wardens are grateful, my lord,” Leliana jumped in quickly, with a smile.

“It is I who am grateful. Moreso once I get out of this Void-hole.” Voxum offered directions and a caution to be careful, before the young man vanished.

Across the hall, raised voices behind a door drew the rogues’ attention.

“No, we must act! The Cousland whelp should have been long dead. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“Nothing, my lord, as you well know. That was why you hired the Crows in the first place. If you get her here, I can make her sing for you, but as long as she is out there…”

“If she’s here _I_ will be the one making that bitch sing.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Found him,” hissed Mirun. The two within continued talking as the four rogues made additional preparations.

The door to the room swung open, drawing the eyes of Rendon Howe, his mage, and bodyguards. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, and he got none. No one stepped through. No one stood on the other side of the door frame. Except that the door had been locked, so it couldn’t have simply swung open on its own. He narrowed his already squinty eyes, looking for the trap. The mage was gathering his power, but had yet to cast anything. Howe motioned for one of the guards to investigate. He stepped through and looked up and down the hallway, seeing nothing. He turned and shrugged. A dagger blossomed from the man’s throat, pointing directly at Howe. He slumped, dead. Behind him stood Voxum, bloody from blow-back, but smiling wickedly at Howe.

“Hi there. Sorry to interrupt, but I just _had_ to meet you,” she purred, sauntering forward.

“Kill her!” Howe screamed. Mirun appeared behind the mage, cutting him down with her axes before he could finish casting. “NO!”

The other guards advanced, the sound of steel being drawn echoing throughout the room. A twang and an arrow bounced off a guard’s helmet. Leliana had made her way to a corner and fired her first shot. The guard redirected his attack. That was the moment when Zevran swung down from above the door and into the room, knocking one of the remaining guard’s over. After that it was chaos – the guards and Howe himself chasing after shadows and half seen attacks while the four rogues vanished from one spot only to appear a moment later a few feet away and take another pot shot at their opponents, trading targets freely and wearing them down before finally taking the kill. All the while, not one of them laid blade or arrow on Howe. The lord found himself the only one left, and surrounded.

“I suppose the Cousland brat sent you? I’ll not go down without a fight!”

Voxum grinned. “Don’t worry. I think she wants you to. Just not now.” With that, Zevran slipped a black cloth bag over the man’s head, cinching it snuggly to his neck, but by no means a strangle-hold. All four stepped back as he scrabbled at the bag, unable to find the strings that would loosen the bag’s hold around his neck. Within thirty seconds, Howe was on his knees, his movements sluggish and tepid. Within a minute he was unconscious.

“Now _that_ is handy!” Voxum praised.

“Yes! And you can simply line a cloth with the powder and weight the edges to drop around someone’s head from a height. Just as effective – assuming it goes on correctly,” Zevran preened.

“You can congratulate yourselves later. We still need to get both him and Anora out of here without being caught,” Mirun grumped.

“A fair point. We should go,” agreed Leliana.

It was then that they heard the soft prayer from the chamber beyond. With raised eyebrows and curious looks, they left Howe where he lay and went to investigate. A small row of prison cells lay beyond – two were occupied. Both Mirun and Voxum nearly doubled over as the song of the Taint within them warned of likeness. The man in question was doubled over in pain. His eyes were sunken in and glassy, his hair patchy where it had begun to fall out. His skin showed signs of torture.

“Have you come to end poor Rexel?” he asked in nearly a whisper.

“Rexel? Is that your name?” Leliana asked softly.

“Perhaps. Once. At the battle. But then we escaped. We ate them to live and now I will become them. I alone am left.”

“No, you won’t.” Mirun shook her head. “You do not need to fear that fate, Rexel. You can die as a man.”

“You would allow this?”

“I would insist on it. I am a Grey Warden.”

Leliana’s eyes grew wide, but Voxum had already handed over a dagger. “Wait! What are you-“ The dagger was skillfully slipped between Rexel’s ribs into his heart, then out again.

“Maker bless you.” He smiled and slid to the floor.

“He would have turned, Leliana. We saw someone similar in the Deep Roads. It’s a kindness,” Mirun explained, before she handed the dagger back.

The other prisoner was in better shape physically, but considerably less coherent. Leliana shooed the other three away and spoke quietly with him for some time after opening his cage. Eventually he handed her something. She sighed, but nodded and returned to the others.

“His name is Irminric Eremon. His sister is Bann Alfstanna Eremon of the Waking Sea bannorn. He’s a Templar – the one who caught Jowan, actually. Loghain snatched him and Jowan up. That’s where he convinced Jowan to poison Eamon. Irminric is in a pretty bad place – lyrium withdrawal – but he gave me his ring to give to his sister as proof. If we can get it to her…”

“Something for Andra to deal with. Right now we have other concerns. Like an imprisoned Queen,” Zevran noted.

The others agreed and they made their way back to Howe. Zevran heaved the Arl’s unconscious body over his shoulder before they carefully returned to Anora’s room. A few moments work and the door swung open to reveal a pretty woman in her late twenties sitting on a bed and looking very tired.

“The Grey Wardens, I assume?” she asked, drawing herself to her full height.

“Yes my lady, but I’m afraid we need to go, as quickly and quietly as possible. I don’t suppose you have any experience in that?” Voxum asked hopefully.

“None.”

“Of course not. Find a dark colored cloak to wear, if you please, and follow our instructions without question and we’ll get you to Arl Eamon safely.”

“Dare I ask who that is?” Anora asked as she sorted through a wardrobe.

“Better if you don’t, my lady.” Zevran answered as he readjusted the man’s dead weight on his shoulder.

“I see.” She swung a dark blue hooded cloak around her shoulders. “Is this acceptable?”

Voxum nodded and Leliana disappeared out the door. A few moments later a dull thunk sounded and Mirun snagged the dull arrow from the ground where it had fallen.

“Come, quick and quiet as you can.” Voxum said motioning Anora to follow her.

The two hurried down the hall into a dark alcove, with Zevran (and Howe) and Mirun following. Another arrow quietly thumped into the wall next to them, and the group darted to the next planned safe spot. Here they sat for some time while a patrol passed, reached the end of their route and returned. Only once they passed Leliana, somewhere ahead, did she fire the ‘all clear’ arrow, allowing them to move forward once more, this time into a room filled with sleeping guards. Anora’s eyes were wide in shock and fear, but Voxum sharply motioned for her silence. The signal arrow landed on the wall opposite the door and the group finally made their way into the very empty mess hall where Leliana was waiting for them. Here Voxum took over, gathering up a few cups and plates that had been left and heading into the kitchen, looking every inch as if she belonged there. The others stood just on the other side of the doorway.

“Just set them there, next to the sink,” came a tired voice. “I’ll have the scullery boy clean them in the morning.”

“You look exhausted!” Voxum proclaimed. “Why don’t you head on to bed? Tell me what you’re supposed to do, and I’ll take care of it for you.”

“Why would you do that?” The woman’s voice was still sleepy, but laced with suspicion.

“I’m new and have energy. Besides,” those listening could practically hear Voxum shrug, “I heard that after this Landsmeet thingy Arl Howe won’t be in charge any more.”

“All right. It’s pretty simple. I can’t let this burn. It’s supposed to cook until the morning crew gets here in a couple hours.”

“I think I can handle that. Go on.”

“Thanks.”

The others hurriedly gathered to the far corner of the room where the woman was unlikely to look, especially as sleepy as she was. Sure enough, the woman shuffled by, never noticing the odd lumps in the darkened corner that shouldn’t have been there. When they joined Voxum in the kitchen she was just setting a huge pot down off the fire.

“What are you doing?” Mirun hissed.

“I’m not staying here, but if it burns, someone will smell it and come to investigate. The more time we have the better,” Voxum answered. “Besides, this gets her a slap on the wrists – not a lost job. Better late than burnt.”

“Fine….lets go.”

Once outside, it was easy to use Denerim’s many back alleys to return to the Eamon’s estate unseen. The servants and Erlina especially were relieved to see Anora, and she was quickly given a bedroom to rest in.

The rogues, led by Zevran swept into Andra’s room, huge smiles on their faces. “One Queen, unharmed, and unseen as requested. One Arl, unconscious but alive. And Denerim is even still standing.”

Andra bounced up from her bed, uncaring about her state of dress and pounced the four in a huge hug. “Thank you! Thank you so much! How long will he be out?”

“Several more hours at least. But the drug can be reapplied repeatedly if necessary,” Zevran answered.

“Good. No doubt Anora will want to talk in the morning. _Then_ I’ll start to deal with this bastard. Not before.” Her eyes were hard.

“Sleep well then, Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably apologize for this chapter title. But I’m not sorry, and you can’t make me. ;P Maybe someday I’ll write a cross-over from the basic idea that’s sitting in my head, but probably not, so I’m using the title here ^_^ (PS if anyone wants it, I’m willing to share!)


	52. To Be A Warden: Negotiations, a Detour, and Preparations

Andra awoke to a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She sat, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and her feet kicked something on the floor. Something that said ‘oof.’ A grin split her face, and she strongly suspected it wasn’t a nice one, as everything from the previous night rushed back to her. The strange feeling was a knot that had finally, _finally_ , uncoiled. She kicked the mostly still unconsciously Howe again just because she could and got dressed, locking the door behind her.

“Don’t go into my room today, please,” Andra requested of a servant she passed as she hummed tunelessly on her way to breakfast.

Anora, Eamon, and Alistair already up. She smiled and curtsied to them before taking her place at the table.

“Good morning my king, my lady regent, my lords!” Her breakfast companions looked startled as they murmured their replies.

“Sleep well?” Alistair asked.

“Yes, thank you!”

“Ah. Well. Um.”

Anora cleared her throat. “I must thank you and your companions for your timely rescue last night, Warden Cousland. I sent Erlina to you because I hoped we might join forces. However, I fear that my escape will make matters worse. Now that he cannot use me to support his claim on Maric’s throne, my father may resort to drastic measures to stay in power. I doubt he will say anything publicly…at least until he has a better idea what to expect. You need evidence for the Landsmeet, but you also need a stronger candidate for the throne. You need me.”

“Anora, you are indeed Cailan’s widow, but…” Eamon interjected.

She smiled so sweetly that it left Andra’s teeth aching. “Please don’t misunderstand, I have no doubt that Alistair is a good and decent man, but even with his blood he is no king. You think only I can see it? Not only that, Alistair is a Grey Warden. It will look like you are trying to put a Grey Warden on the throne, despite your claims. I am a neutral party – and I am already queen. Who do you think truly ruled this nation for the last five years? Cailan? For years I have ruled this kingdom as Cailan’s queen. As much as they loved Cailan, all of the Bannorn knew this to be so. Cailan was a good man. But what is need now is not another good man but a good ruler. I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who does not even want the throne. I can help you stop my father. He must be stopped, but once that is done Ferelden will need a ruler, I need your support for my throne, Warden Cousland. And you will need mine. In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see? Together we can do what alone we cannot.”

Andra returned the smile, biting into an apple. “I cannot help but see your point, my lady. Even so, it seems to me that you are quick to abandon your father to his fate.”

“Never that. He is my father, as well as a Ferelden’s greatest general, and he has served his nation well until now. If there is a way for him to live, I would of course prefer it. Consider what I have said. I think I shall retire to my rooms for nows. Please excuse me.” She got up and left.

Eamon let out a breath he’d clearly been holding for some time. “Well, she’s quite…spirited. I remember when Loghain first brought her to Denerim. Poor Cailan was a good boy, but Anora was always two steps ahead. Had him jumping when she snapped since the first time she batted her eyelashes. I cannot help thinking she may be trouble. But we should keep her close, all the same. This is an alliance of convenience – for the moment we are united against Loghain. Be careful how must trust you place in her. Still, I would rather have her where we can watch her than actively working for Loghain.”

Andra let out a highly unlady-like snort. “She is every inch her father’s daughter, and I trust her just as much. Do you think she practiced that speech or does that just come naturally to her? Regardless, we shouldn’t discount her or her offer completely.” Her face contorted as she thought. “What if they married?”

Alistair’s drink sprayed from his mouth across the table. “WHAT?”

Eamon considered. “It’s not a bad idea actually.”

“No. No way. Absolutely not. Out of the question.”

“Why?” Eamon asked. “Your blood would lend legitimacy to her claim, while she would provide a link between the old king and the new. She could also rule more actively if you didn’t wish to do so.”

“And she can provide you with an heir,” Andra added quietly.

Alistair looked back and forth between Eamon and Andra, eyes wide. “You’re serious. You’re actually seriously considering this. Does no one care what I want?”

Andra looked away. “Of course we do, Alistair. But politics doesn’t. And this would be a political marriage through and through.”

“Look. I’ve accepted that you’re trying to put me on the throne. Frankly, I’d rather leave it to Anora, but I _get it_. But if I have to sit on it, she will not be the one standing beside me.”

“Is there someone else you have in mind?” Eamon asked curiously.

“Absolutely.”

“No.” _No!_

“Andra-!”

“No, Alistair.” She stood, refusing to meet his or Eamon’s eyes. “You asked, before, and I didn’t give you a direct answer. I’m giving you one now. I’m sorry. Marry Anora. Have children, or at least a chance at them. I have something to do that will require my absence over the next few days. Yes, I’m going alone. No I don’t need help. Yes, I’ll return in time for the Landsmeet. Excuse me.” She hurried from the hall.

Eamon turned slowly to Alistair who was staring after his love. “I’m sorry, Alistair. I didn’t realize…”

“There was no reason you should have. We don’t exactly have a…normal…relationship.”

“I imagine the Blight puts a certain strain on things.”

Alistair let out a bitter laugh. “You have no idea.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Eamon offered.

“Not marrying Anora would be a good start. After that- I don’t know. Maybe Leliana will have some ideas?”

Andra rode hard, partly to make sure her time was good, but also in part to abuse her riding companion a little more. He was, after all, proving to be very dull company, being unconscious. The gates to Soldier’s Peak finally came into view and she slowed her pace, much to her horse’s relief. Levi greeted her as she came into the courtyard.

“Greetings, my lady! I wasn’t expecting to see you here – thought everyone was gathered in Denerim for the Landsmeet?”

“They are, but the actual meet hasn’t been called yet. Still waiting on a few nobles to arrive. Which is good. It gave me a chance to drop This off.” Andra motioned to the unconscious body laying across the back of her saddle.

“And, uh…who is that? If I may ask?”

“Better if you don’t, Levi. But would you be a dear and get one of your stout cousins to help me? I’m afraid there are a few stairs between here and my destination.”

“O-of course.” He turned and shouted to the blacksmith. “Mikhael! C’mere! Warden Cousland needs to borrow you!”

It was a simple matter for the huge smith to haul the body like a sack of potatoes and he followed the Warden-Commander within the keep and through the various hallways, up several flights of stairs, across an open bridge and into a foyer that saw little use.

“You can leave It there, I’ll get it from here. Thank you so much!”

“No problem,” Mikhael grunted and left.

Andra bent to remove the hood still around her prisoner’s neck and the bindings around his feet. She hefted him under his arms and heaved none-too-gently up the last necessary flight of stairs, well aware that her treatment would leave some nasty bruises. She kicked the last door open and dragged him forward just enough before dumping him unceremoniously on the floor and closing the door behind her. There was only one occupant in the large room – one _living_ occupant, anyway, besides herself and her comatose ‘friend’.

“Can I help you, Warden-Commander?”

“Not at all. I made you a promise. Today I’m making good on it.”

“Oh?” Now she had his complete attention. “Forgive me, what promise was that?”

“You said you needed test subjects.”

“And you’ve brought me one?” His eyes lit up.

Andra’s took on a hard glint. “On one condition,”

“You wish me to be humane…” He sounded disgusted.

Andra laughed, sharp and angry. “Just the opposite. Anything you’ve ever wanted to know, but have had reservations about testing on a live subject? _This_ is who you experiment on. My condition – keep him alive as long as possible.”

“Who-?” His question was cut off as the prisoner groaned, finally awakening. Andra nearly skipped to his side.

“Good afternoon, _Howe_ ,” she hissed in his ear.

“Ugh. The Cousland bitch. I should have known. You can’t think you’ll get away with this? Not after Loghain warned you off. Let me go at once!”

“Oh my dear, sweet, Rendon. I’m afraid you’re a little behind the times. I got away with it several days ago. They’re celebrating in the streets that you’ve gone missing. And Loghain doesn’t seem to particularly care one way or another. I guess you aren’t as important as you thought. You poor little man.”

Howe attempted to spit at her. “So what, you intend to kill me? You think this is retribution? Is this where I’m supposed to bemoan the monster I’ve created? I made your mother kiss my boots while your father watched before I killed her! Damn you. I deserved _more._ ”

Andra’s tone remained light. “Kill you? Oh no, Rendon! I could never do that to such a beloved friend of the family and loyal retainer. I am not going to do anything at all to you. That would hardly be proper for a woman of my station and pedigree. No. I will, however give you the _more_ you seek.” She smiled, tipping her head as she regarded him. “And you will beg for more, because you are a greedy bastard like that. But that last bit of more – the one you will scream for in the end? – _that_ will be denied to you for as long as possible.”

“Torture then. You think I cannot withstand such things?”

She looked up to see Avernus approaching with a small chalice. “Oh, I heard all about your little _playroom_ , you sick fuck. You get one chance to die like a man. Pray that you do.” Andra’s hands snaked forth to capture Howe’s head in a lock so Avernus could force the modified Joining down him. He screamed, and thick dark blood dripped from his eyes, ears, and nose.

“Interesting,” Avernus mumbled to himself, noting the effects in a small journal.

Inside Andra’s head she felt _him_ roar with approval.

“What have you done to me?” Howe asked as the scream stopped. “What is that song?! Make the song stop!”

Andra just laughed, and even Avernus was chilled by it.

It was late when Andra return to Eamon’s estate, not so late that everyone would be abed, but well past dinner-time. She had pushed hard to return, having heard rumor that the last of the nobles had finally arrived and the Landsmeet would be called the next day. Still her heart was lighter than it had been since that night nearly a year ago when she had first met Duncan. Andra handed her horse off to a servant with the intention of finding Eamon to tell him of her return, when Leliana intercepted her.

“You’re back! We were beginning to wonder if you would make it in time! Come with me, there is much to do, and little time to do it in.”

“Uh. Okay. Just let me tell Eamon-“

“There is no need. The servants will tell him, if they have not done so already. We have been working on our strategy together while you have been gone.”

“You’ve been- oh Maker, this should be good,” Andra sighed as she allowed herself to be led into the estate and to her room.

“Hey. I’ll have you know that I used to be a great player of The Game in Orlais. I may not know the specifics of Ferelden politics well, but that does not mean I don’t understand how deadly words can be.”

“My apologies. It wasn’t directed at you.”

“Good. Then we can get on with this. There will be a few minor disputes brought up before the big question, and there’s no reason for you to be there for that – it overplays our cards and robs us of a dramatic entrance. Eamon will have to be, but you and Alistair can be fashionably late. Loghain will be there, of course, and we cannot predict exactly what he’ll say. Even so, we have earned some allies, and can gain a few more with well-placed words. Of course our number one priority is the Blight. Everyone must be made to see that. Howe had some very powerful people in his dungeon and he was ultimately under Loghain’s control. Bringing up Eamon’s poisoning is sure to raise a few eyebrows as well.”

Andra sighed. “And I suppose Alistair took marrying Anora off the table at the first opportunity.”

“He tried, was desperate really. It made me wonder.” Andra hummed for her to continue. “We spoke enough that I was able to put two and two together. He’s madly in love with you. But…he seemed unsure about where you stood on the issue.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Love often is.”

Andra considered how to answer without giving too many ‘Warden Secrets’ away. “The short version is that I care for him a great deal but there are things standing in the way.”

“Such as…?” Leliana prompted.

“For one, I can’t give him heirs. Two Grey Wardens means no family. Ever. For another, there’s…someone else.”

“That is a problem. This someone else. Do they have a name? Does Alistair know?”

Andra smiled slyly. “Of course, but that would be telling.” The smile dropped. “And yes, he knows. It kills me to hurt him like this, Leliana. I love Alistair. In a perfect world I would-“ She shook her head. “That’s the problem isn’t it? In a perfect world, I would never have met Alistair _or_ the other guy. It’s all bound up so tightly in the Blight and the Taint that nothing can be shaken loose without everything coming apart.”

“In a truly perfect world, you would have met the one you want the most anyway. The question is – which one is that?”

Andra sank onto her bed, head in her hands. “I don’t know. I should. I know what the ‘right’ answer is. It’s Alistair. He’s…everything. Kind, sweet, strong, understanding, funny, charming, down-to-earth, smarter than Morrigan gives him credit for. What was it Anora said? A good and decent man.”

“This other man…he’s not?”

Andra chuckled. “No. Not even close. But he makes me…he tells me…if I…” She groaned, unable to find the words. “I’m His, and he is jealous.” She could hear _his_ whisper, agreeing. _Mine._

Leliana frowned, her voice soft. “I belonged to someone like that once. I would have done anything for her. Anything. Without question. And I did. She used me to her own purposes without any regard for me or my needs, and when she was done she threw me away like trash. It’s how I ended up in Lothering’s Chantry, ultimately. I thought it was love, but I was wrong.”

“What you felt or what she felt?” Andra asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You said you thought it was love, but you were wrong. I’m asking you to be more specific.” Andra swallowed. “It matters to me. Please.”

“What I felt was real. The heartache I felt when she left me was real. But what she felt for me? What I thought was between us? That was not love.”

“Why? Or-“ Andra held up her hands as Leliana began an angry retort, “-more correctly, this woman. Do you think she understood the concept of love and simply didn’t love _you_ or was it that she didn’t know how to love?”

Leliana’s brow wrinkled in thought. “I… I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it before. Why would you ask that?”

“Because the real question I need to ask is… if she didn’t know how, could she be taught?”

The Orlesian woman’s eyes grew wide as she understood what was being said. “Marjolaine could not have been. She is too embittered by her own past. Your man? I do not know without meeting him, but given your own assessment that he is not a good man, I somehow doubt it.”

Andra sighed again. “None of this matters, you know. We don’t live in a perfect world. We don’t get what we want, and I can’t marry Alistair.”

“Well then, I suppose we need to speak about what you’re wearing tomorrow. Voxum and I did some shopping…”


	53. To Be A Warden: The Landsmeet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andra, Alistair, Leliana, Sten(ish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my girlish impulse to describe clothing!

Eamon was already long gone by the time Andra was ready to go to the Landsmeet, Leliana assisting in the process wherever she could. Fortunately Alistair had taken just as long getting ready, with Sten acting as his squire. The two met in the foyer and took long appraising looks at each other.

Alistair was dressed in his brother’s retrieved armor, cleaned, polished, and re-fitted to fit his broader frame. The whole thing was gilded and decorated with Ferelden’s mabari’s. At his side was Maric’s blade, and on his back Duncan’s shield – retrieved from the local Warden vault while Andra had been gone. It would be a fitting reminder to the nobles – here was Therin blood; here was a line to the past, Cailan and Maric before him, here was a reminder that it was Maric who had welcomed the Wardens back into Ferelden with open arms, here was a man who could be both at once.

Andra was dressed just the opposite. A fine dress of embroidered silk in forest green clung to her torso like a second skin before flaring dramatically at the waist. A thick belt, colored the same gold as her eyes served to separate the two and visually make her waist even narrower than normal while pronouncing her breasts. The neckline showed the skin of her shoulders and upper chest. Her neck was adorned with the vial Alistair had given her at her Joining. Her dark brown hair had been allowed to fall free for once, curling softly around her shoulders. Leliana had painted her face lightly, bringing even more attention than usual to Andra’s unusual eyes.

“Wow.” They spoke together.

“Ahem. Er, I mean-“ stuttered Alistair.

“Yes. Well. Um-“ blushed Andra.

Leliana and Sten looked at each other, amused, before the bard spoke. “Shall we go? There is a difference between being fashionably late and just late, after all.”

Both nodded, hurriedly. When they arrived, there was little question as to who they were or why they were there, and the guard let them in without question. Eamon was just finishing his speech as Sten opened the doors.

“Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?”

Loghain applauded insincerely, his voice ringing across the chamber. “A fine performance, Eamon, but no one here is taken in by it. You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The better question is, ‘who will pull the strings?’” He turned to see who the latecomers were and smiled sourly. “Ah! And here we have the puppeteer! Tell us: How **will** the Orlesians take our nations from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be-prince? What did they offer you? How much is the price of Fereldan honor now?”

Andra ignored the jibe, instead curtseying to the nobles present. “My lords and ladies of Ferelden, many of you know me. All of you knew my father – Bryce Cousland. I present to you Alistair Therin, son of Maric Therin and brother to our recently lost and beloved King Cailan.” Alistair bowed slightly as Andra continued, rounding on Loghain. “As to your accusations, ser, I very much resent the idea that my honor might be up for sale. I have had no communications of any kind from the Orlesians, and I wonder what proof you might offer that would suggest otherwise? The only threat I see to our fair nation is the Blight!”

A female bann, Alfstanna of Waking Sea, piped up. “There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear.”

“The south is fallen, Loghain!” added Bann Wulff of South Reach. “Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?”

“The Blight is indeed real, Wulff,” Loghain answered. “But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it? They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?”

“Shall we discuss Ostagar then, my lord?” Andra asked. “Shall we discuss how, _at best_ , you quit the field and left our king to die at darkspawn hands who over ran his position? A position he was expecting you to reinforce. A position he took because of your plan. A position he never would have taken had you been willing to wait for those legions instead of allowing your undue paranoia to pressure you into attacking early.”

“His fantasies in _your order_ are what got him killed. I saved lives by pulling out. It was my duty.”

“No! You duty was to do as you were ordered. You duty was to die at his side.” Andra’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Doing any less was nothing but cowardice.”

“You dare?” Loghain all but bellowed.

“I do. It’s far better than the alternative. Tell me, was sending an apostate to poison Eamon your duty as well?”

Loghain scoffed at the idea. “I assure you, Warden Cousland, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate.”

“Indeed? My brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry’s justice. Coincidence?” Bann Alfstanna asked.

The Grand Cleric rose in rage, and pointed accusingly at the teyrn. “Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain. Interference in a Templar’s sacred duties is an offense against the Maker.”

“Whatever I have done, I will answer for later, once this Landsmeet is finished,” Loghain said, tiredly.

“That is hardly a denial, my lord. I suppose then that you will also answer for Rendon Howe? His crimes are numerous, and all were done in your name.”

Another Bann, this one named Sighard, spoke. “The Warden speaks truly! My son was taken under cover of night. The things done to him… some of them are beyond any healer’s skill.” A murmur began to grow among the nobility at this.

“Howe was a grown man responsible for his own actions. He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life, as must we all. He would answer to a mortal authority as well could anyone find him. Unfortunately the man seems to have disappeared off the face of Thedas itself.”

Andra had trouble hiding the smile that played across her face, making Loghain peer at her suspiciously. “You have questioned me and my motives enough, Lady Cousland. If there is nothing further…?”

“I have something further to add,” came a voice from the balcony. Andra looked up to find Anora looking down at them all. There was a shuffle of fabric as everyone bowed or curtseyed to the Queen-Regent of Ferelden. “Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. This Warden has slandered and defamed Ferelden’s greatest hero in a bid to put an imposter on Maric’s throne. We have little knowledge of this Alistair beyond the fact that he is a Grey Warden and that he **may** have royal blood. For five years I have been your queen. I hope that by now I have proven myself worthy of the Therin name. More, I trust my father to lead our armies to victory. My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before. It has been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting. We Fereldan’s have proven that we will never truly be conquered so long as we are united. We must not let ourselves be divided now.”

Once more the Grand Cleric moved forward, just enough to be seen, her voice wavering from strain and old age, but it allowed her to be heard all the same. “What say you, lords and ladies of Ferelden? Where do you stand?” One by one the Banns called out their choice.

“The Wardens! I’m with the Wardens.”

“I stand by Loghain! We’ve no hope of victory otherwise.”

“South Reach stands with the Wardens.”

“The Wardens helped me in a personally in a… family matter.”

“Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens!”

“Dragon’s Peak supports the Wardens!”

“The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens. Maker help us.”

“I stand with the Wardens! The Blight is coming: we need the Grey Wardens!”

Andra turned once more to Loghain, her words soft and meant for his ears alone. “The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down gracefully.”

Instead Loghain roared, eyes blazing in fury. “Traitors! Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives? You fought with us once, Eamon. You cared about this land once. Before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk. None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How dare you judge me!”

Andra slapped him, the crack echoing across the chamber which fell dead silent. Her voice was not raised, but it didn’t need to be – everyone there could hear every word. “How dare _you_ , Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of the River Dane. Orlais was thirty years ago. The Blight is now. It is time for you to stop living in the past and see what is directly under your nose. While you have been here hiding from your own demons, Ferelden has been fighting this Blight tooth and nail. You think the Orlesian emperor and his troops were bad? The archdemon and its darkspawn horde are far worse. And yes – they too will flatten fields and rape women. They also _eat_ people. They spread darkness and fear wherever they go. And the Grey Wardens? They fight. They give hope. They give farmers, craftsmen, merchants, nobles, **everyone** a chance to escape that end. They bleed and bleed until there is nothing left, and then they continue to fight. They die doing it, at the side of a king or alone in a forest. No one thanks them. No one even remembers their names. They die fighting darkspawn so that for four hundred years people think that the darkspawn have been wiped out. So don’t you dare say that we… that I have not spilled blood for this land the way you have. You questioned my honor once, Loghain. Do not do it again.”

“There is a fire in you I haven’t seen since…” he trailed off. “It matters not. I cannot step aside. I will not.” He drew his sword and leveled it at her.

Andra looked to Alistair, flashing him an apologetic smile, before she stepped forward, the point just piercing the base of her throat. She stared into Loghain’s eyes. “If more blood is what you seek, Teyrn Loghain, then have mine. Perhaps it will quench your thirst and allow you to see what must be done.” A trickle started its way down her chest and into the cleft of her bosom.

Loghain’s eyes followed its path, before tearing away back to her face. “Why?” he demanded hoarsely.

“Because the Grey Wardens do what must be done – no matter the cost. If this is the cost for peace in Ferelden, if my life grants the solidarity we need to face this Blight then I will happily give it.”

Loghain held his pose a moment more. “You are a remarkable woman.” His sword was withdrawn and sheathed. He knelt. “I yield.”

Alistair was on him in a second. “You’ll die for what you’ve done!”

“Wait!” The call came from Riordan. “There’s another option. The Joining.”

Anora pounced on the option like a cat, “Yes. The ritual is often fatal, is it not? If he survives you gain a general, if not you have your revenge. Doesn’t that satisfy you?”

“No,” the response from Alistair was practically a growl. “He abandoned us, and then called us traitors. He hunted us down like animals. He tortured Riordan. How can we simply forgive that?”

“I am not asking you to forgive it, Alistair. I’m asking you to accept it. There are, after all, compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible,” Riordan reasoned. Alistair could only look to Andra, all but begging her with his eyes. She considered carefully, tapping one fingernail on her teeth.

“If we do this and he survives, he takes the blow, assuming he isn’t already dead.” She looked to Riordan as his eyes widened.

“You know what you ask?”

She nodded even as Alistair shook his head. “A choice – a traitor who killed his king or the hero who saved Ferelden from the Orlesian occupation at the side of King Maric. The Joining decides which.”

Riordan nearly choked. “You are a hard woman.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Absolutely not! I refuse to call this man brother,” Alistair started. Andra took a step to him, but he took a step backwards. “Him or me, Commander.”

The double meaning was not lost on her, and Andra closed her eyes in grief. _Come to me,_ his voice whispered in her head _._ “Him.” _YES._ “Further, as proof that neither Eamon nor I have any intention of putting a puppet on the throne as well as providing continuity to the line, Alistair should marry Anora.” There was a small round of approval at this pronouncement.

“I see.” The hurt shone brightly in Alistair’s eyes. “So be it.”

“No, I think not.” The Grand Cleric spoke a third time. “The Chantry has privileged information from Cailan’s rule that casts certain…doubts about Anora’s suitability as a wife. It seems that Cailan was rather seriously considering setting Anora aside due to her inability to produce an heir.” There was a gasp from the various gathered nobles while Anora turned a rather delicate shade of pink. “I’m afraid I cannot condone such a marriage, given the concerns.” Andra frowned and saw Leliana preening.

“If that is the case my lords and ladies,” Alistair said with a smile, “Are there any objections to me asking the Lady Cousland for her hand?” A round of enthusiastic ‘no!’s only increased her scowl. “Well, my lady? Would you refuse a king?”

“Will you allow Loghain to take the Joining?” Andra countered.

“Is that your bride price?” Alistair asked, and Andra could only blink, nodding slowly. “Then I will pay it, and happily.”

_NO!_

He swooped in for a kiss, taking her completely by surprise, dipping her backwards, his mouth hungry on hers, and she could do nothing but return it, twining her arms around his shoulders to the whooping cheers of the banns. Both were panting when he finally set her back on her feet.

She leaned to whisper in his ear, “I thought swooping was bad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there!


	54. To Be A Warden: Whatever It Takes

Riordan brought the cup forward to Loghain. No words were spoken, no welcome, no ritual. But far more onlookers than usual. He drank and screamed, head thrown back. Anora clasped her ears, tears in her eyes. The various nobles looked startled, looking to the Wardens desperately for guidance, only to be more thown off when they acted as if this were normal. Finally the scream trailed off, Loghain collapsing to the floor. Riordan darted forward to check on him, nodding curtly to Andra and Alistair.

“He’ll live, more’s the pity,” Alistair announced. “Keep a guard on him. Once he’s recovered, bring him to Arl Eamon’s estate. There is much to discuss. I never met my father, but from everything I’ve heard, he was a man committed to his protecting his land. I can do his memory no more honor than following in his footsteps, and right now that means fighting the Blight. As such I name Arl Eamon my regent, to rule in my name until I return. Take Anora to the Tower and lock her in. In the case of both my and my betrothed’s deaths, I name her as my heir. Everyone, get ready to march. It will take all of Ferelden’s strength to defeat this Blight, but I believe that we can – together.” A cheer went up as Alistair marched purposefully out of the chamber with Andra, Leliana, Sten, Riordan, and Eamon trailing in his wake.

At Eamon’s estate Alistair let out an explosive breath. “Was that…was that okay? Did I do alright? Why did we let Loghain live? Where is Duncan’s justice?”

Andra shook her head. “You did fine. Leliana can explain about Loghain. Duncan’s justice will come – we’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer. I need to-“

“You don’t want to talk about…you know…being engaged?” Alistair interrupted.

Andra closed her eyes, calming her emotions and attempting to silence the whisper in her head. “No. I’m pretty sure that would be a bad idea right now.”

His face dropped. “You’re angry.”

“I’m-!” She rounded on him, voice rising. “I’m furious! And elated. And scared – terrified might be a better word. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

“He knows, Andra,” Leliana answered. “He’s openly declared that his heart belongs to one woman alone, in all of Thedas. That’s all that matters.”

“Its not.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Andra?”

“He’s close, Alistair. Closer than ever. Always there. He knows, and he is _livid_.” She sank to her knees. _Come to me._

“What?” Alistair demanded, kneeling next to her and roughly pulling her head up to stare into her eyes when she wouldn’t willingly meet his. “When?”

“Haven.”

Alistair’s jaw worked in anger as he processed this information. “Riordan, with me. Eamon, I’m sorry to abuse your hospitality, but we have some Warden business to discuss. Sten, would you be so kind as to find the other Wardens and send them to us?” With one hand he hauled Andra to her feet and pulled her behind in and into the manor, finding a large enough empty room and dragged Andra in, Riordan following curiously. Within, after the door was closed, Alistair explained as fully as possible Andra’s connection with Urthemiel to the older Warden while Andra stared miserably at her own feet and the other Wardens slowly filtered into the room.

“You must be joking. This is a terrible joke, yes? Tell me it is.” Riordan finally said after Alistair fell silent. The latter shook his head in negation. “A connection with the archdemon itself. It can gain access to her mind whenever it so chooses, and you’ve allowed this woman not only into all of your planning sessions, but to lead your forces? Are you mad?”

“Well, when you say it like that…”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!” Mirun defended.

“Oh yes. Clearly. For all you know the archdemon now knows everything we do, every plan you’ve made. It is no wonder it hasn’t shown itself. It knows exactly where not to be.” He rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb. “When I asked if you knew what you were asking in regards to Loghain, Andra said yes but Alistair said no.”

There was a knock at the door, followed by it opening. “Excuse the interruption, Wardens, but Loghain is here. As he’s now one of you, my lord thought you might wish to include him in your discussion?”

“Yes. Best if he’s here for this. Thank you,” Riordan answered.

“What, what?” Mirun asked.

Osane frowned, “Loghain’s a Warden now?”

“What the hell happened at the Landsmeet?” demanded Isallin.

Vena said nothing, opting to play with Da’fen instead. Alistair sighed. “I’m king. Andra’s my betrothed. Anora’s in the Tower in case we both die. Loghain’s a Warden because he survived the Joining. Sadly.”

Silence reigned until Loghain arrived, scowling at everyone as he took a seat. Riordan spoke again. “Andra, dare I hope it was Duncan who told you?” She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “I… see. I assumed that Duncan had told you, but I guess he never had time. Loghain you wondered why it must be the Grey Wardens who end the Blights. Why we are necessary. I wish I did not have to tell you this way. Archdemons cannot die like mortal creatures. The Taint sustains them. Worse, if the archdemon is slain by any but a Grey Warden the archdemon’s soul will seek out the nearest Tainted creature and simply… takes over. It is simply done – the darkspawn have no souls of their own. Thus is the archdemon reborn anew, and the Blight continues. However, a Grey Warden also harbors the Taint, so if it is a Grey Warden who kills the archdemon, the soul is drawn into the Grey Warden instead. But two souls cannot occupy the same space. Both are obliterated. The archdemon dies for good, ending the Blight.”

There was a beat of silence before the room broke out into a cacophony of protests and alarm; only Andra remained silent and unmoving.

“The only way to end the Blight is for one of us to die?!”

“How could he not tell us?”

“How could you do this?”

“If we had known..!”

“Andra, you knew?”

“Our soul is obliterated? What does that even mean?”

Riordan held up his hands for peace. “As I said, I thought Duncan had already told you. I am sorry. Traditionally it is the oldest Wardens who determine among themselves who will take the final blow. I am the eldest. My time is nearly done. It is my place.”

“No,” Alistair interjected, finally understanding that part of Andra’s plan. “That is Loghain’s punishment. That was the agreement.”

“Normally I would agree. In fact I did agree. But that was before I knew of Andra’s additional circumstances. If it was something she desired, we _must_ question her motives.”

“I can’t imagine how Loghain taking the last blow and dying instead of one of us would benefit the archdemon. It dies either way, doesn’t it?” Voxum asked.

Andra stood, the eyes of every soul in the room turning on her. “I think,” she said quietly, “that if I am not to be trusted, I should not listen further to this conversation, or any conversation regarding your planning or troop movements. Excuse me.” She turned to leave.

“No.” Alistair’s voice was rich and commanding. Andra froze, looking back at the group. “I’m sorry to countermand you in this, Riordan – I know you’re the senior Warden here. But it’s been Andra who’s led us through this chaos.   It’s been Andra who’s found us allies to fight this Blight – an army to rival the one we lost at Ostagar no less. In addition to all this pressure, she’s been fighting an Old God’s temptations inside her head. I think she’s earned our respect and our trust.” He looked across the room, his brown eyes softening in love. “She’s earned mine.”

“You are certain?” Riordan looked no only at Alistair, but the rest of the Wardens as well. Only Loghain did not nod. “Very well. I suspect we have much to discuss, and many questions to be answered.”

They spoke deep into the night and it was late when Andra returned to her chambers.

“Am I interrupting your thoughts, Commander?” Morrigian asked. She was standing in the middle of Andra’s room, staring into the dying fire.

“No, of course not. What do you need?”

“I have an offer. A way out – that none of you need die. The loop in your hole?”

“There’s no need. Riordan wants to die. Loghain is practically required to.”

“And if they both die before the archdemon? What then? Do you wish to see your fellow Wardens dead at your feet? Alistair giving his life for you?”

Andra swallowed. “Of course not.”

“My solution is far more elegant. Get Alistair or Loghain to lie with me, tonight. Through my magic we will conceive a child that will carry the Taint. When the- what?” She stopped, as Andra’s laugh rang out.

“That’s your loop? A Tainted child? I suppose this idea came from your mother.”

“It… did.” Morrigan sounded very put out.

“The same mother that you were all but begging me to kill for you a few weeks ago? The one you swore you would never do her bidding again? But now you want to enact her plan - by sleeping with a man I love and you hate or a man who’s old enough to be your father and is a traitor to the entire nation, no less. I think not.”

“So you would sacrifice yourself or one of the others instead? Andra, I have come to care for you all. I…dare to call you friend. I would not have you die. I had not thought you so heartless.”

“Whatever it takes, Morrigan. You’ve known that from the beginning.”

“I see. You’ll forgive me, then, if I do not stick around to watch my friends self-destruct.”

“Whatever you need to do.”

Morrigan walked out of the room, and Andra knew it would likely be the last time she would see the woman. Suddenly tired of everything, Andra collapsed on the bed, still fully clothed, and fell into a fitful sleep.

White. Bright white, pure bliss. Bliss. Could bliss be a color? Were they different? They were _supposed_ to be different.   Yes. Emotional bliss. Physical bliss. Sensual bliss. Spiritual bliss. Different kinds. But all bliss. And all white. White spots of faded color. White of purity and hope. White hot. White stars behind eyelids. Bliss was receding. White was retracting. Shapes. Sounds. Feelings. Where was this?

_Where do you want to be?_

She remembers now. She’s been here before. It was different before.

_No. **You** were different before._

Where are you?

He comes to her, real and solid and she clings to him – an anchor in the mists. He tips her head to his, covering her mouth with his own, fingers trailing down her arms to her wrists which he captures and presses into the small of her back.

_Tell me what you want._

I don’t know anymore.

_Did you ever?_

It’s a fair question, she knows. She shakes her head no.

_I have shared you far more than I wish. He has tasted of you. He has claimed a part of you and I don’t know how or why. I need you Andra. I need all of you. I need you to love me as much as I love you._

He adjusts his grip, freeing one hand to trail across her breasts, cupping one gently as he rolls the bud of her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Her head rolls back to expose her neck and he lays a lazy trail of kisses along it up to her ear, making her shudder.

All we are is sex. Need. I don’t know you.

_Don’t you?_

His kisses trail back down to find the neglected peak of her other breast and she lets out a soft hiss as he bites gently, tongue working the remaining flesh.

You’re the Old God of Beauty. All of the Tevinter Empire once worshiped you.

_Yet I worship you._

He abandons her breasts to kiss further down, dropping to his knees in front of her, guiding one knee over his shoulder. His tongue finds her center and circles it slowly. Her wrists are still locked behind her and she cries out wordlessly.

You are Tainted by the darkspawn who found you and it angers you, but there is nothing you can do about it. You like golden flowers and purple butterflies.

_I like many things that are beautiful._

You wish to be free of the constraints placed on you. You want-

His fingers plunge into her heat and she whimpers as his tongue continues to work her nub.

-you want something… I… I…

She gasps, his fingers curling slightly as they pound into her relentlessly.

I’m coming!

_So am I. Prepare._

Andra woke, sweating and gasping. A glance at the dead fire how late the hour was and she winced, the hidden corset biting into her skin.

“How often does that happen?” Andra jumped. Alistair leaned casually in her doorway, observing her, dressed in something far more casual and comfortable than armor.

“Me sleeping? I don’t know… once a night or so,” she quipped.

“Witty one liners are my job.” He entered the room, closing the door behind him. “I mean dream.”

“People do dream when they sleep. It’s not so unusual. Especially for a Grey Warden.”

“Yes well, your dreams are a bit… special, aren’t they? And if I recall correctly, you made me a promise. You’d tell me any time you had a dream. You’d tell me if things got worse. Apparently it did at Haven. You didn’t tell me.” His arms remained crossed over his chest. “And you’re still hiding it from me. Why? Don’t you trust me any more? Don’t you-“ he choked, and looked away.

“This is the first dream I’ve had in a long time, Alistair. I’ve barely had time to even wake up, let alone process it. I humbly beg your Majesty’s forgiveness.” She, too, turned away from him, the words stinging them both.

“I- I see. May I assume from your tone then, that it’s far too much to hope that it was me you were dreaming of? I heard your cries, after all.” At her nod Alistair bit his lips. “I thought we were… When you said you loved me, that my voice completely blew his away, was that just a lie?”

“Not a lie,” Andra whispered. “Never that.”

“Then what? Did I do something wrong? Tell me what I can do to make this right and I will, I swear!”

“It wasn’t you. I don’t think there’s anything for you to fix. I’m just…” Andra lifted her hands helplessly.

“What, my love? You’re what?”

“In the middle. You’ve claimed part of me. He’s claimed part of me. And I’m torn between you. It would be easier for everyone if you’d just let me go.”

“To him?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you want?”

Andra let out a hysterical sob. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?! _I don’t know_.”

“Oh, love.” In two steps Alistair was at Andra’s side, curling her sobbing form into his chest. Gently, he freed the belt around her waist, then worked the laces of her dress loose, letting the material pool at her feet. The corset proved more difficult, but he managed eventually. Then and only then did he lift the covers and tuck her into bed.

“Alistair?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you?”

“Do I what, Andra?”

“Trust me? Love me? Want me?” Andra asked so softly it was barely a whisper.

“Don’t ever doubt it.” There was a fierceness in his voice that made her believe.

“Don’t go…please.”

“As you wish.” He leaned over to blow out the candle, and plunged the room into darkness.

The next morning found her alone. _He doesn’t care,_ came the insistent whisper, but she ignored it. She dressed in her more traditional armor, but traded the ancient Warden-Commander blade for Duncan’s recovered sword, before searching out some breakfast. Everyone else was already there, and the room fell silent as she entered with a naked blade in hand.

“Morning,” Andra nodded to those assembled, and strode up to Riordan. “Riordan, I have been acting as Warden-Commander in lieu of no better alternative. You are here now, and clearly our superior. As such I feel it necessary to officially hand off my duties and responsibilities to you. Soldier’s Peak is now yours to command. This also now belongs to you.” She offered up the ancient blade, pommel out to the elder Warden, who took it cautiously as she continued, taking a step back and filling a plate with food. “You should know… He says he’s coming.” Both Riordan and Alistair’s eyes narrowed at this pronouncement.

“Do we trust it?” Riordan asked, looking to Alistair.

“For all that it’s the creepiest relationship ever; as far as I’m aware, it’s never lied to her. So – probably?” Alistair popped a bite of cheese in his mouth.

“Then we need to gather the armies and determine where it intends to strike. Alistair, take your people to Soldier’s Peak to get your allies. Eamon, will you go to Redcliffe and prepare your armies to march? Vena, I would appreciate the company of a skilled woodsman to help me scout out the movements of the archdemon itself. That way we can send to both places and tell them where they will be needed.” Each nodded in turn. Within two hours the manor was empty.

The waiting was bad, but the dreams were worse. Every Warden suffered under them as the horde drew closer and the song of the archdemon grew louder in their heads. Loghain especially suffered, not having had time to get used to the less intense dreams that Wardens normally dealt with, but somehow no one felt much pity for him, nor offered him any comfort. Andra’s dreams were equally intense, but of a highly different variety. She too would wake screaming, sweating, shaking. Upon arrival, she had immediately moved out of the Warden-Commander’s chambers once they reached Soldier’s Peak and in with Alistair who, as King of Ferelden, now had his own quarters.

Sten was in charge of the forces, preparing them to march at a moment’s notice. The dwarves of Orzammar were eager, both for action and to finally see the end of the ‘Stone-cursed sunshine’. More than a few of them were sporting sunburns, despite the surface-dwellers cautions. The Dalish were also happy. Though they had mostly been camping separately, the elves had rarely been surrounded by walls for so long and their claustrophobia was showing. The only ones who seemed indifferent were the Templars, and that was most likely because they were already well battlehardened by their experiences at the Circle Tower.

It was with a small cheer, then, that Vena and Da’fen were greeted at the gates, at least until she collapsed, gasping for breath, grey lower lip moving as she attempted to form words. “Denerim. Horde already there. Surprise attack. Archdemon.” Da’fen nudged her mistress, concerned and whimpering.

“Vashedan!” Sten cursed, and motioned to Levi to take care of Vena as he sprinted for Alistair inside the fortress. “We march for Denerim.”

“Finally! Get the troops ready, we’ll go in the morning.”

“No. Denerim is already under siege. If you wish to save any of your capital we must go now.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “I see. Then we go. A forced march. It won’t be fun, but…”

The fortress became a flurry of activity. By the time they left, Vena had recovered and explained that she and Riordan had seen the archdemon flying towards Denerim at a breakneck speed. Riordan would have gotten to Redcliffe long before she reached Soldier’s Peak. Hopefully, the two forces would meet just outside Denerim.

Eamon, Teagan, and the forces of Redcliffe were standing outside the walls of Denerim when Alistair, the Wardens, the others, and their allies arrived. Denerim was burning, but still stood.

“Your Majesty,” Eamon greeted Alistair.

“What’s the situation? And where’s Riordan?”

“Not good,” Teagan answered. “The darkspawn are within. The archdemon flies overhead, directing them. I’m sorry, Alistair. Riordan fell, protecting Redcliffe village from a small offshoot of the Horde that attacked after he got the message to us.”

The king let out an explosive puff of air in frustration. “Okay. That’s makes things more difficult. A more experienced Warden could give us a clue of numbers or something. Even so, I’d imagine a group of Wardens this large will attract unwanted attention. It would be better if we split into groups. I hate to ask, but… Andra, do you think you could drawn the archdemon’s attention? Buy the rest of us some time, maybe bring it down, stop it from flying around?”

“I can try.” Andra looked to the city, scanning the skyline. “Fort Drakkon has to be the best choice.”

Alistair nodded in agreement. “Sounds good. Me, Loghain, Mirun, and Osane on one team, Vena, Voxum, and Isallin on the other.” He turned to the others. “When we get in there, it’s going to be chaos. Sten – you’ve been working with our allies – I’m going to count on you to lead them where they’re needed most. We know there’s more darkspawn out there. The whole horde can’t be inside already. Oghren, Leliana, Zevran, Wynne – once we clear the main gates I’ll need you to hold it.” Everyone nodded tersely at their orders.

_They’re just trying to get rid of you. They don’t want you. He doesn’t want you._

Stop it!

Alistair climbed a small outcropping of rocks and looked over his troops. “Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde! Gaze upon them now, but fear them not! Today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honor their sacrifice! Today, we avenge the death of my brother, King Cailan! Today, we save Denerim! Today, we defeat the Blight! For Ferelden! For us all!” He drew his sword and pointed towards the city wall for a moment, looking every inch the king he was supposed to be as a cheer went up, before leading the charge himself. The armies followed him eagerly.

The first clash was bloody – the darkspawn taking as much or more than the Fereldans. Even so, they were unprepared for the sheer ferocity the mortal armies brought to the table and it was quickly overwhelming. Soon enough a space was cleared around the main gate.

“Voxum?” Alistair asked.

“We’ll check on the alienage for survivors – they don’t have much in the way of defenses, but they’ll fight. I’ll send whatever they have here. We’ll work our way to the Fort from there.”

“Got it. We’ll go through the Market. People will have holed up in the Chantry – they’ll need relief. Oghren – you good?”

“They won’t get past us!”

Sten was already busy directing the allied armies, so Alistair say no reason to interrupt him. “Okay. Let’s do this. Good luck everyone.” They all began to run in their various directions, leaving Alistair staring at her, alone. “Andra…my love.”

“Be careful, Alistair.”

“That goes doubly for you. I’ll never forgive myself if you die, Andra. So don’t. Please.” He pulled her to him in a hot kiss that was over all too soon. “I’ll see you at Fort Drakkon.” He turned and left, the others swiftly following suit.

 _Come to me._ It seemed she had no choice.

The Marketplace – Alistair, Loghain, Mirun, Osane

Ogres were assaulting the Chantry with rubble from the nearby buildings. The four could hear screams of innocents within, terrified. A small dwarven contigent was already engaged with them, but seemed to be doing little damage. Alistair screamed in fury, the runes on his sword glowing a soft blue as hissed whenever it came into contact with darkspawn skin. A glance to the others confirmed that they had also moved to action – Loghain was taking on his own ogre, Mirun was helping the dwarves with another, and Osane was patching up the wounded as best she could. To one side a roar of triumph shook the ground as a wall of the Chantry came crashing down, crushing several people inside. On the other side of the wall stood an ogre in a class of its own; easily half again as large, and far better armored, it motioned for the other orgres to turn on their attackers. One of the ‘generals’ Riordan had spoken of. Alistair shouted for Loghain as he changed targets – this monster had to be taken down. The two swordsmen worked in tandem, shields overing each other’s weak spots while swords poked and prodded. Trickles of blood became rivers, and with a well placed strike by Alistair the mountain went to one knee. Loghain didn’t hesitate, leaping to chop at the neck and catching the jugular. Blood sprayed, soaking the newest Warden head to toe. Alistair paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes. Mirun and the dwarves were taking down the last ogres as he looked.

Osane ran over to his position. “Are you alright?”

“Fine…but the people-!” Alistair motioned to the Chantry where wails of pain emerged.

“I’ll do what I can.” The healer looked pale and drawn, but nevertheless worked her way carefully across the rubble to the people injured the in the fight, the normal gentle blue glow that surrounded her as she healed others flickering dangerously – a testament to her tiredness. Even so, she cast until everyone was either back into fighting shape or at least not going to die. She slumped, wobbling on her feet with Mirun steadying her, as Alistair urged them on.

The Alienage – Voxum, Vena, Isallin

The alienage was burning.

Piles of filth that were normally disregarded because there was no other choice were now blazing bonfires. The vhenadahl had set aflame, its leaves blackened and curled. Bodies lay in the paths that substituted for streets with wounds no mortal would have left behind. Vena’s pale grey eyes took it all in with a sneer – a Dalish’s first experience in an alienage. Da’fen stuck close to her heels, her instincts sensing the dangers of the place.

Voxum looked around with a shell-shocked expression, not quite knowing where to let her eyes land. She called out, “We’re Wardens and elves! We’re here to help! Call out if you can hear us!”

Hesitantly a door opened on a building that was still mostly intact. “V-Voxum? Is that you?”

“Andraste’s tits! Shianni? Get out of there before that place sets on fire! Are there others with you?”

A young red-headed woman emerged followed by several children. “We’re most of what’s left. The darkspawn showed up and just…slaughted…everyone. It was…” She shuddered as a crash signified another building collapsing to the flames. “Please, cousin!”

A high-pitched screech told them they were not alone. One of the girls screamed, pointing. The three Wardens turned to face a full contigent of shrieks.

“Run!” Voxum shouted, point back the way they’d come before darting away. Vena was already climbing onto a platform. Da’fen growled, but followed, too little to add anything useful to the fight. Isallin began gathering power, purple lightning scorching ozone through the air as it hit two of the shrieks before they scattered. Shianni scooped up the littlest child and sprinted the way Voxum had pointed, the others trailing in her wake. Arrows whistled by them, plunging into barely seen opponents. The bodies of dead elves rose to grasp at the enemies, gaining them time and precious steps towards safety. A glance back showed Voxum engaging in a deadly dance with a shriek among the smoke and shadows. It struck and Voxum’s steps faltered, her timing lost. With a grimace, Voxum picked up the tempo, her blades dancing along the creature’s skin, and drawing blood wherever they landed. The monster gave as good as it got with it’s razor claws, and it wasn’t long before Voxum’s skin was covered in a sheen of bright red blood. She turned, slicing her daggers across its throat, and screamed, staggering backwards. Vena and Isallin both turned - their attention previously on clearing a path for the children - to see Voxum fall, a hurlock blade sticking several inches through her stomach. Vena’s expression never flickered, but her fingers flew faster than ever, arrow after arrow flying into the newcomer. Isallin’s magic raged, and the hurlock that had dared injure the city elf exploded in a puddle of body parts and blood. Both hurried to her side, with Shianni only a short distance behind.

“Voxum? Voxum?! Oh Maker!”

“Shhhh, Shianni. It’s okay,” Voxum whispered, her blue eyes beginning to gloss over from the pain. Vena pulled the sword out as smoothly as possible, but the thing was coated in rust and refuse. Even a healing potion wasn’t going to fix the damage that had been done. “I’m sorry, Shianni. I’m sorry I was too late. Before. Was I..? Did I get here in time…?”

“The children are safe, Voxum. You did good. You always did good. Shhh.” The woman soothed Voxum’s brow. “Your mother is waiting Voxum. It’s okay. Rest.”

Voxum nodded, her eyes fluttering closed. Shianni winced in grief, tears escaping despite her efforts to the contrary. Isallin looked to Vena. “We should get moving.”

Vena nodded, scooping Da’fen up in one hand. “Go, flat-ear. Our forces guard the main gate, and are expecting survivors.”

Shianni and the children ran one way, while Isallin and Vena ran the other. As they ran across the bridge that led to the noble district the archdemon flew overhead. Da’fen wiggled free of Vena’s grip and growled a high pitched snarl at the giant dragon. Vena paused to pick the wolf cub back up as Isallin ran on. The archdemon circled back, sensing the Wardens through the Taint. The air around Vena and Da’fen crackled.

“RUN!” Isallin urged, her eyes darting between the Dalish elf and the dragon who was inhaling for a breath attack of some sort.

She couldn’t run fast enough. The air split open as the archdemon let loose a stream of pure evil. Green energy crackled around Vena for a split second before she was engulfed in purple smoke and dust as the bridge was destroyed under her. When the wreckage cleared Vena and Da’fen were gone.

Fort Drakkon - Andra

Andra stood alone at the top of Fort Drakkon, and considered her options. Her goal was simple, but the Taint was overwhelming Urthemiel here at the heart of things. If she was to get him here physically, to distract him, she needed to get his attention beyond what she could do in the Fade. She had to – yes. She leaves her pack where the mages can find it, with the hope they will understand her intention. And then she called to him.

I am here.

_As am I._

But not **here.** Come to me.

_Your tactics are obvious._

It isn’t what you think. I’m alone. Look for yourself.

She gave him time to do so, could see him flying around the city. Watched as he attacked random parts of the city.

_So I see. Why?_

I am Yours.

That got his immediate attention and soon he had landed next to her, head lowered to stare into her eyes.

_Mine?_

Yours.

_Completely?_

As much as I can.

_Prove it. Say it. Mean it._

“I love you.” It was said verbally, in her thoughts, and echoed in her heart. In that moment she abandoned Alistair completely. She was His, and he roared his triumph to the heavens.

Fort Drakkon – Alistair, Loghain, Mirun, Osane, Isallin, Andra, Urthemiel

 

“Alistair!”

The call came with a small blast of magic to one side to get his attention. The four turned as they sprinted up the stairs of the interior of the fort to see Isallin jogging behind them, alone.

“Where are the others?” The king demanded.

“Dead.” The shock in the mage’s voice was enough to confirm that the blood-mage hadn’t been the cause of death.

“Shit. I could see the archdemon at the top of the tower. We need to get up there – Andra’s alone with that thing!” Alistair urged.

Together they climbed, coming out onto the roof of the fort. There, in all its awful glory was the Archdemon Urthemiel. Purple-black skin was spiked with horns of bone. The Taint had ravaged and deformed it from sheer magnificence to a state of permanently rotted flesh. It’s claws left gouges in the stone where it walked. And there, calmly standing between its forelegs was Andra, her eyes golden, shining, and predatory – a mirror of the dragon’s. Mirun frowned and nudged Osane, motioning to Andra’s pack that had been so carefully laid out next to the stairs, immediately noticing that something was off about it, even if she didn’t know what. Osane gasped and knelt to root through it.

“ **Welcome, Grey Wardens.** ” The voice was Andra’s, but the intent behind them clearly did not belong to her as she stared, unseeing. “ **’Tis far past time we ended this charade. Bow to me. Serve my will and you shall live. Fight, and you shall die.** ”

“Urthemiel, I presume?” Alistair asked, tightening his grip on his father’s sword.

Osane began handing off potions that would be useful to the others before she found what she was looking for. With a yank she pulled Loghain to her and looped a chain around his neck.

“What-?” He began, but she gave him no time, pressing the small amulet into his exposed flesh where it cut and bled. The stone within began to glow a dark purple.

“No time to explain. Just trust me and keep this on!” Osane hissed as she pushed him away. The older man nodded curtly and began circling as best he could.

“I just _knew_ you were a twat.” Alistair continued, oblivious of the by-play behind him. “Die already!”

“ **Fools.** ”

Andra ran to one side as Urthemiel flapped his wings, knocking the mortals over with the wind. Isallin dove behind a stone column and dug out a knife, slicing her wrists open. With a cry she began to cast against the archdemon, tiny blood droplets somehow standing against the wind where humans could not. They flew together and linked, slowly forming chains that wove around the demon’s legs and wings, anchoring it in place. Urthemiel roared in anger and somewhere Andra echoed it with a scream but the chains would not break, growing ever thicker instead. It wouldn’t serve to break the beast entirely but it would ground it, giving Alistair, Loghain and Mirun a chance they didn’t have before.

“Go! I can’t hold this forever!” Isallin ground out between her teeth as blood dripped down her arms.

The three remaining combat Wardens charged. In and out they wove, like a complex pattern on a loom, striking where they could. Urthemiel fought back, using tooth, claw, and tail. It didn’t take long before their fighting ground was slick with blood from both sides. Osane healed as she could, supplementing her own lyrium with potions, but she was feeling herself fading. At one point Loghain got too close to Urthemiel’s club of a tail and went flying from the fight, his armor irrevocably damaged. Osane ran for him, but the man was dead, eyes staring at nothing. She shook her head and began to cast when the amulet pulsed red. A moment later Loghain blinked and gasped in a breath of air, desperately motioning her to help him remove the chest plate that was restricting his lungs. She did, with his guidance and he was back in the fray without even questioning what had happened, using his shield to guard the now weak point in his defense. Mirun’s axes seemed to be everywhere Urthemiel wasn’t paying attention. If he was fighting Alistair on his front left, she was at his back right. If Loghain was low, she was high. If he was turning to face her, she was already gone from that spot. Everywhere she struck left a telling blow and dragon scales skittered free from Urthemiel’s hide. He roared in frustration, a purple poison clouding the area. The three backed out while they waited for the mist to clear.

“How are you holding up, Isallin?” Alistair called.

“Just… kill… it…” came the exhausted reply.

“Osane?”

“Don’t know how much more I have. Doing what I can for you.”

“I know. Good job everyone. I think we’ve nearly-“ Urthemiel’s maw appeared from the haze, dragging Alistair backwards with a shout. There was a distinctive ‘crunch’ of metal and his scream suddenly cut off. Andra’s voice-that-wasn’t-hers could be heard laughing.

With a wet thud, something landed next to Osane’s right. It was Alistair, sword still in his hands. “ **Your king is dead.** ” Another thud, and Osane looked to her left. It was Alistair as well – his lower half. Her hands flew to her mouth, hiding the scream and the vomit that threatened her. “…no…” A nearly silent whimper.

“Kill it!” Mirun cried, charging. Loghain was hot on her heels. Osane could only stare, her mind refusing to comprehend what was in front of her. With only two of them, the fight was hopeless. It was only a matter of time before the archdemon caught the brave dwarven woman. No matter how long the amulet worked, one man would never be enough to take down Urthemiel. Osane began to pray, wordlessly to who or whatever might be listening to offer her some comfort, some hope. It was then she remembered Senior Enchanter Sweeney’s lecture:

> _“There is a theory that in extreme measures a mage might commit themselves wholly to a spell. In doing so the spell’s effects would be amplified by an extreme amount. It would not matter how much mana or lyrium a mage had left to them as it would be the very core of their being that would be powering the spell. The Chantry cannot decide if this is a form of blood magic, as no actual blood need be drawn, merely sufficient willpower exerted. As such, this practice will work even with healing magic, lending further credence to the idea that this method, if it can be called such, is not blood magic. However, as previously stated, it is only theory. There are no known examples of a mage having successfully cast in this manner – and if they have, they certainly haven’t survived the experience.”_

Osane pulled.  
She pulled from herself; every memory of how magic worked, every recollection of how casting a spell felt, every moment of frustration and triumph as she learned to control her powers.  
She pulled from the ground; the rocks of the Fort, the dirt between the stones, the many paths the Warden’s had trod during their long journey, the blood-soaked battleground where so many dreams had died at Ostagar, the moss that grew along the sides of the Circle Tower in her memory.  
She pulled from the fire; the inferno that burned away Denerim’s core, the blaze that ate the bodies of those who died in the path of the Blight, the flames that cleansed Andraste herself.  
She pulled from the air; the sky that was stained by Taint and tasted of ashes, the prayers and hopes whispered to the heavens that Alistair would succeed.

Osane cast.

The familiar blue light began to surround the healer, flickering dimly at first. Slowly it grew stronger and steadier. Somewhere far away the battle still raged. The magic grew brighter and brighter, becoming blinding. Almost casually the light flicked out to touch Alistair’s body. The two halves slid together, the blue magic binding them as intestine, bone, muscle, tissue and skin all knit together to make him whole again. The magic forced air in and out of his lungs, his heart to beat, but there was no life. Osane understood then what it would take, and gave it freely.

As the blue light faded away, Alistair stood uncertainly. Osane fell.

“Wha…?” Alistair shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog that consumed it.

“Alistair,” Isallin called weakly to him from somewhere out of sight, “Kill…Arch…demon!”

He looked and found his sword still in hand. “Right!” There would be time for questions later.

The king looked the situation over. Somehow Mirun had found a way to climb onto the dragon’s back, and was hacking away at a wing joint. Loghain was missing more armor than he was wearing, as he slashed at the dragon’s legs, Urthemiel clawing at the former general as he snapped at the dwarf. The blood chains still held the giant lizard in place, but it was clear they were weakening, the links far thinner than they had been at the beginning of the fight. Time was running out. Alistair charged in to strengthen Loghain’s position, harrying the archdemon’s leg’s and taking attention from the rogue.

“Alistair?!” Loghain called. “Thought you were dead!”

“Don’t ask me!” the warrior called back, slicing at another exposed area and barely ducking a claw. “But be careful! Osane is down.”

“Understood!” The older man rolled away from Urthemiel’s jaws.

Alistair struck again, spinning away from another leg of horns and deadly claws and found himself with access to the demon’s belly. He struck upward as hard as he could, pulling and twisting the blade for maximum damage. The archdemon roared in pain, recoiling upwards and taking Alistair’s sword with it. With a final hack, the wing bones disconnected from Urthemiel’s body and the skin tore free as the lizard jerked. Mirun followed, rolling to safety, a grin of triumph plastered across her face. The jolt was also the last strain that the chain’s could bear and they broke, splattering the stone beneath in a rain of blood. It was too much for the beast to bear and it collapsed to one side – still alive, but unable to fight any longer. Alistair looked for Andra and found her some distance away, watching from her perch atop a ballista with her dragon eyes. He started towards her even as he called back to the others.

“Mirun, check on Isallin. Loghain, you know what you have to do. Make your peace.” Loghain knelt in prayer as Mirun went to find the blood-mage. Alistair only had eyes for the woman in front of him. “Andra?”

“ **No. Finish this, Warden-King.** ”

“Not without her. Is she in there somewhere, or have you destroyed her completely, just like you do everything else?”

“ **She gave herself to me willingly, Warden-King. You lost.** ”

“It’s not an answer. She told me once that the Archdemon and Urthemiel were two separate entities. Which are you?”

Not-Andra narrowed her eyes. “ **Clever.** ”

“Andra…if you’re in there…if you can hear me…please, please come back.”

Loghain rose and tightened his grip on his longsword.

“Me or Urthemiel, I don’t care, but not the Taint. Not this.”

He began a full tilt run towards the dragon, blade held high in both hands.

“ _It_ doesn’t deserve you. _It_ isn’t worthy of you. Please.” Alistair dropped to his knees, begging.

Loghain screamed as he drove the weapon hilt deep into the Archdemon’s spine, just behind its head.

Light poured from every open orifice, every cut the Warden’s had made in the Archdemon. A moment later Loghain was doing the same. Then he pulsed red – so fast it was almost missed. The light blasted its way to the sky, burning a hole in the clouds to the clear blue beyond. Another pulse, only for Loghain. With the light came an absence of noise, as if everything had been shut off, and now the light completely engulfed both figures, a column so bright it hurt to look at. Another pulse of red, or was it purple?, for the human figure within. The column expanded further yet, encompassing the entire top of the Fort and everyone on it. The tiny pulse of a human shape was definitely purple now. With a silent explosion, a shockwave shattered the light, exploding over the whole of Denerim. Sound returned with a rush as the darkspawn screamed, broke, ran, and were cut down by the cheering, whooping, joyful, troops that chased them gleefully through the streets. Atop Fort Drakkon, all was still quiet.

Mirun picked herself up from where she’d been thrown by the explosion and looked at the broken body next to her sadly. She hadn’t particularly liked the mage, but this…

“Know that someday I will join you, sister,” she whispered before working her way across the debris field to where she’d last seen Alistair and Andra.

Alistair cradled Andra’s head in his lap, his mouth moving, but no sound coming out. He jumped when Mirun put a hand on his shoulder. “Isallin’s gone. She bled herself dry to keep those chains in place. Thought you should know. How is she?” The rogue motioned to Andra.

“Alive, but beyond that? I don’t know.” Alistair’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been screaming.

Footsteps behind them made both start, Mirun’s axes flashing in the sun. A man was there, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace, his features hard to otherwise make out for the sunlight that was directly behind him.

“I’m…” his voice was even rougher than Alistair’s – more a whisper than an actual voice. He coughed and tried again. “I’m not… Andra.”

“No shit.” Mirun rolled her eyes. “I’m not Andra either, nug-for-brains. Try again.”

“Andra. Wake up.” The man whispered.

She did, shifting and groaning in Alistair’s lap, before gingerly sitting up. “What- where am I?”

“Andra? Love?” Alistair asked, spinning her to him. Her pupils had lost the predatory slits, but remained golden prisms.

“Alistair? You’re here? Wait! Where is- Did I fail? I was trying to…” She shook her head, confused.

“No, love…we won. The Archdemon is dead.” He pointed to the dragon corpse.

“That still leaves the question of who this guy is,” Mirun pointed out.

Andra looked over Alistair’s shoulder and gasped. “It…” She scrambled across the king to the man in question. “It’s you…isn’t it?” She asked. “You’re real?”

He nodded, standing tall, and pulling Andra to him. She didn’t resist.

“Urthemiel.” It wasn’t a question, and the man gave no answer. Alistair looked broken. “Is this your choice then, Andra?”

Andra had the decency to look down. “You needed me to attract the Archdemon. To get his attention. To hold him here until you arrived. I did.” She looked up and there was no guilt in her prismatic eyes. “I did _whatever it took_ to do what you needed.”

“And now she’s Mine.” His voice was stronger now. “Whatever claim you had on her is gone, Alistair Therin.”

_If there was a man of the royal line willing to fight for her, he might be able to actually take Urthemiel on to fight for her love._

“No, it isn’t.” Alistair swallowed and stood, drawing himself to his full height.

“Oh?”

“I love her, and she loves me. That you’ve…done something to her does not change that. Further, she is my fiancé.”

“You intend to fight for her then?”

“I do.”

“So be it. Ours will be a subtle game, no doubt lasting years. I have the time. Do you?”

“I’ll make time.”

Warden-King Alistair, his betrothed Warden Andra Cousland, the Warden Mirun Brosca, and an unknown man who would later become known as Uriel emerged from Fort Drakkon to cheers and congratulations.

The Fifth Blight was over.


	55. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know those annoying slides at the end of every game? These is them.

It took some time for things to settle down, and return enough to normal that affairs of state could be dealt with. Once they were, Alistair was officially recognized as Maric’s son and crowned by Grand Cleric Elemena. At his side stood Andra Cousland, his advisor in all things political. It was well known that Alistair sought her hand as his bride, but another also sought her affections – Uriel, a man far more handsome than anyone really had the right to be. The women of the court practically threw themselves at his feet, but he only had eyes for Andra. Despite no one quite knowing who he was, he was given the position of ‘occult advisor’ in the Ferelden court.

Fergus Cousland was discovered alive, although severely injured, and Andra was forced to give him the news of their family’s massacre. Shortly thereafter the two disappeared for several days. When they returned, both looked significantly more at peace. No doubt unrelated, the odd screams occasionally echoed from the highest point of Soldier’s Peak also fell silent.

When asked to explain the events of the Fifth Blight to the Wardens of Weisshaupt, Alistair told them that Loghain was the Warden sacrificed and left it at that. Neither Mirun nor Andra contradicted him. As Andra was being considered for marriage and Mirun had more than proven herself, it was Mirun who was officially named Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and she who would deal with The Thaw in the months to come. Alistair granted the new Warden-Commander both Soldier’s Peak and the arling of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens in celebration of Mirun’s new titles.

The dwarven allies returned home to a heroes feast, with many tales for their drinking friends, and more that they’d prefer to forget. Alistair sent with them a pact that promised men to help keep the darkspawn at bay. In return, King Bhelen did send world that Sescha would be honored next to her father’s tomb, all titles and honors restored.

To honor Voxum’s sacrifice, Alistair asked Shianni to be the first Bann of the Alienage, with the promise that her voice would be heard equally at the Landsmeet the same as any other noble. Shianni accepted and took to the role well, becoming an outspoken proponent for the elves.

The Hinterlands were gifted to the Dalish as thanks for Vhenarellan’s brave service to the crown, to do with as they willed and any clans who wished to make it their home were welcome to do so. Keeper Marethari accepted the offer graciously, but few clans took the offer at face value, instead looking for the ‘shemlen-trap’.

Alistair noted both Osane and Isallin’s substantial contribution to the fight with the archdemon, and informed Knight-Commander Greagoir that although a new Circle was needed, the mages had more than earned the right to prove they could watch themselves. Greagoir was highly displeased by this and retired shortly thereafter.

Teagan took over as Arl of Redcliffe, with Eamon and Isolde choosing to remain in Denerim as additional councilors to Alistair. Connor was sent to the new circle after it was built. Teagan was well loved by the citizens of Redcliffe, and Isolde was happy to be well away from the place that had so many bad memories.

The Fifth Blight changed thousands of lives in thousands of ways, but none so drastically as the life of Andra Cousland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And roll credits. Please feel free to leave comments for good or ill, questions concerning the plot, or anything else you feel worthy of your time. I dearly hope you enjoyed reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear the thoughts of my beloved readers! Kudos, comments, critiques, questions, and edits are all welcome!


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